Digressing Through Mist, Abiding Through Fire
by FinnFiona
Summary: Elena Gilbert thought her life changed when she was 17-she was wrong. Three years later, the last shred of familiarity goes flying out the window. This is where her real life begins. D/E, one way or another...   Companion to Easy Like That
1. Minor Chords

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for the encouragement with **_**Easy Like That**_**—I really wasn't expecting such a positive response and am deeply appreciative. As promised, here we have a spin-off of sorts to Chapter 5 of that little series. It isn't at all necessary to read that piece first, though it might give you a bit of background for where I'm coming from with these characters and where we're going… We will eventually circle upon and beyond the events of that last chapter with this story if all goes as planned.**

**At any rate, this continues to be a lot of fun for me to play around with—I hope it lives up to your expectations. Just something of an introductory chapter to start… Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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_**One: Minor Chords**_

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Elena opened the door to the Boarding House wearily. Not for the first time, she felt the drive from the community college she was attending in Ellerton was getting longer and longer—even if it was only two towns over.

Allowing the heavy wooden door to slam satisfyingly behind her, Elena made her way slowly into the large drawing room. Her feet dragging, she sloughed her bag onto the ottoman with a sigh. She was just about to flop onto the oversize sofa herself when she heard the tinkering of piano keys wafting through the house.

The beginnings of a smile played at Elena's lips as she made her way into the solarium.

"Someone's in a mood," Damon said, not bothering to look up from the mess of papers spread in front of him.

Elena frowned and cocked an eyebrow—she'd only just walked into the room, after all.

Damon placed his antique fountain pen on the lip of the baby grand's ornate music rack with a put-upon sigh. "Slamming the door, huffing and puffing through the house..." he trailed off with a smirk and a tap of his ear. "Professor Fancy Pants give you a hard time again?"

"It's Professor Fancipe," Elena replied automatically, coming to sit next to Damon on the dark bench. "And yes... I don't think journalism is my forte," she sighed, "I'll be glad to return to creative writing next term."

"I could give you a few pointers," Damon said with a wink, "I used to work for a paper, you know, back in the teens."

"You did?" Elena asked, intrigued. She often felt her mere twenty years could never balance the deficit levied against her by the wealth of experience afforded him by his preternaturally long life. He never failed to surprise her with some new—and not always horrifying—tidbit from his past.

"Sure," Damon replied with a suggestive flash of his eyes, "it was a good cover for my... _extracurricular activities_."

"Ugh, gross, Damon," Elena said with a playful swat to his arm. Turning, she finally took in the disordered array before her. "Are you composing again?" she asked with a smile.

"Maybe," was his non-answer, though the infamous 'eye thing' was in full force. Elena loved that he still wrote music-and she secretly loved even more that she was the only one who knew it.

She didn't think Stefan even realized how much Damon still played. She certainly hadn't, until they'd spent those few Stefan-free (though actually Stefan-centered) days when her boyfriend had lost control of the bloodlust all those months and years ago. Playing was something only the elder Salvatore had shared with their mother, and Elena wondered if Stefan resented the connection. After all, Stefan had been much too young when their mother died to have more than a few scattered, fragmented memories. Little as either of them would discuss her with Elena, Oriana Salvatore was practically a taboo subject between the brothers—an unspoken agreement that seemed to extend to the piano as well.

Elena knew it was important to Damon, at least, and like most things he cared about, he was fiercely protective of it. "Can I hear it?" she asked with her most persuasive smile.

"It's not finished yet," Damon said succinctly. "Now run along—your boyfriend's home and he seems to have exceeded your own ill humor."

Trusting Damon's supernaturally charged ears as a reliable indicator, Elena left him in the conservatory and quickly went to intercept Stefan.

"Hey," Elena said simply as she entered the parlor, catching Stefan with one foot on the stairs.

He turned to her, an unreadable expression etched into his features. "I didn't know you were here."

Elena pursed her lips slightly, not knowing quite how to respond to that. Wasn't she almost always here?

She walked further into the cavernous room, but Stefan didn't budge from his perch at the banister. She could tell that Damon was right, something was certainly bothering Stefan… "Are you okay?" she asked at last.

"Fine," he responded, shortly.

Elena didn't buy that for a second, and since he wasn't going to come to her, she closed the remaining distance between them and looked up into his face. "You can tell me…" she said quietly. She started to reach for his hand, but stopped herself. The hesitation unsettled her.

"Mrs. Culbridge came into the library today," Stefan began stiffly, "wouldn't stop going on about how I hadn't aged a day since she saw me last."

He paused, though Elena recognized the significance immediately. Mrs. Culbridge had always been one of Stefan's favorite patrons at the library—a job he was unusually suited for, given his extensive knowledge of history and literature, not to mention intimate understanding of the town. It was a good cover for him, at any rate—somehow he couldn't get away with the purposeful aimlessness Damon seemed to cultivate in Mystic Falls. As for Mrs. Culbridge, her sons had moved her to Richmond when her husband had passed away, but Elena had heard that her daughter, Margaret, had recently brought her mother back home.

"She's nearly ninety years old, Stefan," Elena reasoned, "I'm sure no one paid much attention."

Stefan's brow knitted together, countering, "I don't know, Margaret seemed to agree with her. Besides, Frank was just saying last week that I still look as young as the day he hired me. This is happening more frequently, Elena, just last month—"

Elena cut him off, "Yea, I remember. But it doesn't have to mean…" she trailed off, not certain what it meant or didn't mean. She was tired of this fight, of the waiting at this precipice and never knowing when she would reach the edge.

"I can't run from it, Elena," Stefan said, a weighty vein of bitterness trailing through his voice. "It's my life."

Elena swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.

"I just came back to get my coat," Stefan straightened his shoulders, ending the conversation. "I need to go hunt," he added, his eyes turning slightly downward as they always did whenever he was forced to acknowledge his lifestyle.

"Give Thumper our best," Damon taunted from somewhere behind Elena. She wondered how long he'd been standing there.

Stefan didn't offer a response, but turned on his heel. He returned in a flash with his jacket flung over his shoulder. "I won't be long," he says quietly, just to her.

Elena remembers at the last moment to call after him, "Jenna and Ric are having us for dinner tonight—don't forget! Six o'clock!"

She had to assume he'd heard her, but he was already out the front door.

Elena turned back to where Damon was still leaning casually in the doorframe. "You're invited too," she said, "to dinner."

"I _know_," Damon said with a waggle of his eyebrows. "The teacher texted me earlier."

"Did he mention the occasion?" Elena asked.

"Not a word," Damon said with a shrug, pouring himself a generous drink. He tilted the decanter towards her, but she demurred the offer. "Ric's been acting rather strangely lately—even for him."

Elena frowned, not quite seeing how the pieces fit together. "Jenna was almost giggly on the phone—she even said something about baking."

Damon and Elena locked eyes, sharing a shudder of distaste at this thought.

"Thank god I don't have to eat food to survive," Damon twitched, taking his glass into the solarium, knowing Elena would follow.

Elena's mind was still back on the stairs, playing over what little Stefan had said. It was true; people had been noticing more and more lately that he didn't seem to age. She'd known this was coming—had known for a long time. But it was only just starting to feel real.

Damon had already regained his seat at the piano, absently rolling the fountain pen under the tumbler, though he was watching her closely. She came to lean against the ebony frame, gazing in at the many slats and strings. "How long does it take before people notice you aren't getting any older?" she asked—in a smaller voice than she'd intended.

Damon quirked his head slightly, "Well, I was older than Stefan when we were turned so I usually have a bit more leeway—five years, maybe. Not that I usually wait around in one place long enough to find out."

Elena felt almost unreasonably—inappropriately—relieved at that thought. Five years, that was something. And after all, he hadn't left yet… Through everything, even the very worst when maybe he really should have gone for good, he'd stayed in Mystic Falls.

She ran her hand along the edge of the piano, unable to stop her mind from spinning and whirling once more as she sat down again on the bench. "Are you still coming for lunch on Thursday?" she asked, trying to derail the persistent tug at her brain and stay the knot growing in the pit of her stomach.

If she was honest with herself, it had been festering there for weeks.

"Don't I always?" Damon responded. Elena had to smile at that—she rather looked forward to his weekly visits to campus. He claimed he hated to think of her suffering through the lackluster culinary options of Ellerton—or worse, the college dining hall. And so he had begun showing up with something delicious in tow, usually one of her favorites dishes.

Today, however, it appeared Damon wasn't going to help distract Elena from her thoughts. He nursed another sip of his bourbon, placing the glass carefully on top of the piano, eyes already focused on the sheet music in front of him. He made absent notes in the margins, his free hand tracing the changes and additions in the air.

The subtle movements lulled Elena into internal honesty. She felt as though she and Stefan were in a holding pattern. Circling, circling—never moving forward, all the while burning up the precious fuel keeping them aloft. It wasn't just the aging, or lack thereof. She could hardly remember the last moment of genuine intimacy between them—it was swallowed up by the chasm that threatened beneath their feet.

It was all harder and harder for Elena to ignore. But she had to.

Didn't she?

"What happened to us?" she sighed aloud. She felt Damon's eyes slide over to her, but to his credit, he resisted the urge to make the usual sarcastic response. She had the familiar sensation that he was reading her like an open book, that he was aware of all of her worries about Stefan—about their relationship. And yet the wall he often erected around himself was frustratingly closed to her.

"Play it for me?" she asked again, nodding to the handwritten music. Damon didn't protest this time, straightening the paper and carefully placing his long fingers over the ivory keys.

He began almost tentatively, but slowly worked the melody into a beautiful, haunting lilt. It was flooded with unresolved chords and somber, searching notes.

Elena rested her head lightly against his shoulder, closing her eyes and allowing the music to wash over her. She thought it was one of the saddest things she had ever heard.

And yet, she felt better hearing it.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope to update again soon—there are plenty more developments coming. Please hit that review button to let me know what you think—any suggestions, comments, or constructive criticisms are of course welcome!**


	2. Shifting Revelations

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for the comments and alerts—they are a huge incentive to keep working on this story. **

**I want to mention that I have a general idea of what's happened in the past three years for this story, but I don't want to dwell too much on exposition as it's already passed for the characters. So I'll try to drop tidbits here and there to fill in the blanks—if something remains really unclear, though, let me know!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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_**Two: **_**_Shifting Revelations_**

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Damon extricated himself from the car as soon as Elena had come to stop in the Gilbert driveway. There had been a time when he relished the little spats that crept up between Stefan and Elena—encouraged them, even. He had loved watching his brother squirm.

But Damon had nothing to do with the silence that had enveloped Elena's car during their entire drive from the Boarding House. The palpable discomfort didn't hold quite the same malevolent joy for Damon it once had.

He wasn't going to dwell on why that was.

Stefan climbed out of the passenger's seat more slowly. His expression was set as carved stone and, Damon thought, broodier than usual.

Damon itched to just _get inside the house already_, regretting for the hundredth time that he had acquiesced to Elena's insistence she drive all three of them to dinner. Grinding his teeth impatiently, he motioned for Elena to lead the way, "After you…"

Elena just shot him a look and self-consciously readjusted the flower entwined behind her ear. Stefan had returned from his hunt with a wild rose in hand, placing it gently into Elena's hair. Damon hadn't missed her small smile, nor it's regretful edge.

And still, the silence.

"Oh, good, you're here!" Jenna chirped as Elena led their small contingent through the front door. Damon caught a sight of the older woman scurrying through the kitchen in a large striped apron.

"Jenna you… baked a pie…?" Elena asked uncertainly, the first to enter the kitchen.

"Ric helped," Jenna smiled, stretching the flour smeared across her cheek.

"Thanks for the recipe, man," Alaric muttered to Damon as he emerged from the refrigerator with a pair of beers in hand.

"Don't mention it," Damon responded, accepting the proffered bottle.

"Smells delicious, Jenna," Stefan said politely, taking a long swig of beer himself.

"Oh, well, I don't know about that," Jenna checked her various pots and pans. "At least half the table doesn't actually have to eat it!" she added with a nervous laugh.

"Thank God," Jeremy offered sarcastically, descending the stairs heavily and joining the group assembled in the kitchen. "You're late," he added with a glance at the newcomers.

Damon bit back a retort. Eternal life hadn't greatly improved the young Gilbert's attitude. _Teenagers_.

"Okay, I think it's ready!" Jenna announced, ushering everyone into the dining room as Alaric placed an array of vegetables and a decent looking roast on the table.

"I'll get the wine," Damon offered as everyone took their seats.

"Jenna, you still have an oven mitt on," Elena was laughingly admonishing her aunt as Damon reentered the room.

"Oh, silly me," Jenna smiled coyly, removing the mitt and carefully placing her hand on the table.

"Jenna…" Elena's head snapped immediately to her exposed fingers. "Is that...?"

"Mmhmm," Jenna nodded, bestowing an adoring glance on Alaric as her smile widened.

"We're engaged!" Alaric added, almost unnecessarily as Elena jumped up, squealing, to pull Jenna into a tight hug.

Damon wondered how he'd missed putting that one together—it seemed painfully obvious now. "Really, Ric? You didn't learn anything the first time around?" Damon chided Alaric, though he clapped him on the shoulder approvingly as Elena pulled the teacher into a fierce hug of his own.

"Congratulations," Stefan managed, sincerely enough.

Damon even caught Jeremy sporting a sly smile from his place at the table. Elena saw it too, and returned her brother's smile tenfold. For once, Jeremy didn't brush it off, constituting an exchange between the siblings that, Damon knew, Elena felt were still sorely few and far between.

"Okay, okay, the food'll get cold," Jenna regained her seat, though her smile didn't fade in the slightest.

The conversation didn't stray far from the impending nuptials. Which was just fine with Damon, as he could allow Jenna and Elena to chatter on with occasional input from Alaric, and be left to his own thoughts.

He had to hand it to Jenna, the food wasn't half bad. Damon liked to think he had something to do with that. After all, the Gilberts would never have made it through family nights without the Salvatores' cooking acumen. At least not without racking up a sizable bill at P.R. Chang's Noodle House.

Jeremy didn't make a show of eating his food, his typical sullen expression fixed in place. The kid wasn't shy about his preference for blood—not that Damon could blame him, of course. The stuff was damn good, especially in the early years. Yet Damon thought he sensed a restlessness under the controlled façade, and wondered absently how long it would take for Jeremy to snap.

_Not my problem_, Damon reminded himself. They'd all tried the direct guidance approach—Jeremy wasn't keen on accepting it.

Damon thought that with the better part of two centuries study, he ought to understand his own brother a bit better. Stefan wasn't usually the most difficult to suss out, and yet he was growing steadily more perplexing.

He _had_ Elena—what was he doing?

"Well," Jenna said as she threw her napkin on the table, "thank you all for pretending to enjoy that."

There were mutters of protest around the table, and Damon caught Jenna's eye. _'You did good, kid,'_ he mouthed, eliciting a wry grin. Damon was pleased to note the wariness she once regarded him with was practically non-existent.

Though that very realization gave Damon another reason to pause. When had he stopped putting this on as an act? He _wasn't_ a good guy, he'd made far too many mistakes, committed far too many wrongs.

When had he started believing this life he'd set up for himself was… real?

"Wanna play Halo?" Jeremy turned to Damon.

"Actually," Alaric interjected, "I was hoping Damon would help me with the dishes."

"I'll go a round with you," Stefan offered.

Jeremy just shrugged and headed into the living room; Stefan followed. Damon could only raise an eyebrow at this exchange and accept the stack of plates Alaric handed him.

"Feeling domestic already?" Damon asked as he started the water running.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something," Alaric replied, leaning against the kitchen island.

"It's a little early to be having second thoughts, don't you think?" Damon smirked, mirroring Alaric's posture at the counter.

Alaric sighed and just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "You really make me question my sanity," he muttered under his breath, but of course Damon had no trouble hearing him—and it only made his smirk widen. "I'm not sure how or why, Damon, but somehow you've managed to become my closest male friend."

"Why, Mr. Saltzman," Damon teased with feigned coquettishness, "you really know how to butter a guy up."

"I'm being serious," Alaric sighed again, "though I don't know why I try."

Damon uncrossed his arms, not sure where this was going. Alaric Saltzman seemed in the mood to surprise him today—which was one reason Damon liked to keep him around.

Alaric took a deep breath. "The fact is… I was hoping you would be my best man."

Damon stared at Alaric, unable to rearrange his astonishment quickly enough to escape the other man's laughter.

"Don't look so shocked," Alaric chuckled.

Damon pursed his lips, and turned back to the steadily filling sink. "You know, back when we were kids, it was expected that Stefan and I would stand for each other at our inevitable weddings to the daughters of wealthy landowners," he said as he scrubbed at a dish. "I'd abandoned that notion a long time ago." In fact, Damon thought he had given up on being anything that represented such an expression of loyalty or friendship.

"I'm not Stefan," Alaric pointed out.

"No, you're not," Damon agreed, shutting off the water. "But you're almost as much fun to embarrass—and the modern wedding offers so many ripe opportunities to a best man: toasts, bachelor parties…"

Alaric's mouth twisted between a grin and a grimace. "So you'll do it?"

Damon hesitated a moment—he really didn't deserve any of this; Damon knew that with crystal clear certainty. But apparently others were deciding differently, and so he nodded sincerely. "I'd be honored," he agreed quietly.

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"I think we can let the boys take care of this," Jenna grinned at her niece, rising from the cluttered table. "Want to go for a walk?"

"Sure…" Elena agreed, perplexed. They weren't usually ones for neighborhood strolls.

Grabbing their jackets, the two women stepped out into the chilly air of early evening.

"I'm so happy for you, Aunt Jenna," Elena smiled genuinely. She had still been getting used to Alaric living in their house more than she did these days—but it had made more sense for him to move in than for Jenna to move out. They thought Jeremy could use as much stability as he was willing to accept… Elena could hardly believe how much time had actually passed.

"Thanks, kiddo," Jenna nudged Elena's shoulder, unable to stop the wide smile from stretching her features.

After everything they'd been through, Elena really was relieved to see Jenna—and Alaric—so happy. "You have to let me throw you guys an engagement party this weekend," Elena suggested enthusiastically, her mind already whirring with the beginnings of a plan—and welcoming the distraction.

"Sounds like something a maid of honor would do," Jenna grinned slyly.

"Oh," Elena faltered, "well sure, I didn't mean—"

"You goofball," Jenna cut her off, laughing, "that's you, if you'll do it."

Elena stopped walking and grabbed Jenna into a long hug. "Of course I will," she breathed. Elena couldn't quite explain it, but her chest filled with a lightness she hadn't realized she'd been missing.

"Good," Jenna laughed, returning the hug. "You know," she added as they began walking again, "I was your mom's maid of honor."

"I remember seeing the pictures," Elena smiled sadly. She knew her mother had always expected to return the favor, one day. "I know she wouldn't have wanted to miss all of this."

"No…" Jenna agreed quietly. "But I'm glad _you're_ here," she added, eyes bright as she turned to Elena.

"Me too," Elena smiled softly.

The two young women walked on in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"So… What's going on with you and Stefan?" Jenna prodded carefully.

"What do you mean?" Elena asked.

"Don't play dumb, Lanie," Jenna chided affectionately. "You haven't so much as looked at each other all night, and he seems more… reserved than usual."

Elena sighed heavily. "People have been noticing his… aging problem a lot lately."

"I see…" Jenna mulled this over, biting her lip. "Is that all it is?"

Elena smiled weakly. Once they'd been able to stop hiding everything from Jenna, her aunt had become a dangerously observant companion. It was no wonder she and Damon got along… "I guess not," Elena admitted, though she wasn't sure she was ready to acknowledge what else might be going on with her and Stefan.

Jenna didn't push her on that score, for which Elena was grateful. "Will Stefan have to leave?"

"He's probably stayed too long already," Elena muttered.

"Will you go with him…?" Jenna asked.

"It wouldn't change anything," Elena's jaw tensed.

"I can't believe I'm even bringing this up," Jenna took a deep, hesitant breath, "but it could change, couldn't it?"

Elena bit her lip, refusing to look her aunt in the eye. "It could…" she agreed. "But it's never really felt like a legitimate option. Stefan's dead set against it, always has been."

Elena could see Jenna's eyebrows rise in a mixture of surprise and appreciation. "Is it something _you'd _want?"

"I don't know…" Elena answered honestly. "I won't pretend I've never considered it. But I've never been able to come to a decision, regardless of what Stefan thinks. I know it's a lot to give up, and I've just never… never been able to…"

"Decide if it was worth it?" Jenna completed the sentence that Elena couldn't.

Elena nodded mutely. And really, what did that mean that neither of them could take that leap?

"Elena…" Jenna paused, "I may not have any right to say this, but I know three years can seem like eternity when you're young. But not every relationship is meant to last forever."

Jenna tried to catch Elena's eye, but she kept walking.

"And when 'forever' and 'eternity' are actually on the table," Jenna pressed, "I imagine it can become rather… daunting."

Elena closed her eyes briefly. It seemed she was having this conversation whether she wanted to or not. The fact was, she had been avoiding it for longer than she cared to admit.

"I was so lost when Stefan came into my life," Elena started quietly. "After the accident… and he saved my life… Everything that happened—so much of it should have been horrifying, but it made me strong again."

Jenna nodded. "You're a different person, Lanie—different than before the accident, too. Maybe he was what you needed then, to help you become that person. But you won't lose who you are, if you let him go."

Elena had to appreciate Jenna's forthrightness. It was a quality her mother had had as well… "The past three years… so much has changed."

"That'll never stop," Jenna smiled ruefully. "And I'm not saying you can't work through whatever problems you two are facing, but don't try to hold onto something that isn't working just because you're afraid of the alternative. It's not a good idea, trust me."

"I know…" Elena's eyes drifted downwards.

"Just find a way to talk to him," Jenna said, giving Elena's shoulders a one-armed squeeze as they approached the house. "And don't wait too long, okay?"

Elena nodded, letting Jenna get a few steps ahead of her. A shiver ran up her spine as a gust of wind whispered by in the gathering gloom. Elena drew her arms around herself, trying to shake off the sudden, but well-worn instinct that there was someone—or something—else just beyond her field of vision.

Looking around, her gaze eventually fell back on her childhood home. It didn't fill her with the feelings of security and belonging that it used to. Stefan had filled that void for a long time, and now she didn't even know how to talk to him.

How could something that once felt so right, now feel so broken?

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**A/N: Well that turned out rather longer than I expected—I hope it wasn't too dry. I think I'm still getting a feel for these characters, so I hope you'll bear with me. The next chapter should start to move beyond these introductory elements a bit more. **

**Reviews are much appreciated, so keep 'em coming!**


	3. The Tide

**Author's Note: Just a huge thank you for the support and interest—let's see if this shakes things up a little..? ;)**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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_**Three: The Tide  
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It was an odd thing, sauntering into a room as if you didn't have a care in the world—all the while keeping your senses on high alert. It was a skill Damon had long since perfected, and one he worked on holding together as he entered the Grill.

Damon couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he'd had all day—it was an instinct he normally ran with. Or ran away with, as the case warranted. After a certain amount of lifetimes spent living on edge as the biggest bad in town, one developed a knack for these things.

Still, Damon shook it off—he hadn't been very… settled lately. Then he caught sight of Elena, and the pathetic little flip in his stomach reminded him why he wasn't keen on trusting his intuition these days.

"Well aren't you a picture," he smirked, walking over to her.

"Finally," Elena nearly snapped in a tone that screamed business, "take this, would you?"

Damon accepted the large box that was shoved upon him unceremoniously. "What is this…?"

"I don't know," Elena smoothed the front of her dress, "I think Ric's mother sent it… Where's Stefan?" she added, looking behind Damon as if his brother were hiding in his shadow.

"I don't keep his calendar," Damon walked off, tired of talking around a brightly wrapped gift. He set it with the rest of the presents on the long table in the restaurant's back room, which was already decked out in engagement themed décor. It was nauseating, really.

Elena was hot on his heels. "Haven't you seen him?"

"Haven't you?" he countered.

The hint of worry he'd detected in her face was quickly hidden under bristling composure. "I haven't been by the Boarding House lately…"

"I noticed," Damon took a step closer. He had forgotten just how quiet the house could be… at least it was sufficiently large to keep him from running into his moping brother too often. "And I know you aren't avoiding _me_, as my phone won't stop buzzing with texts to help with this little _soirée_."

"You're the best man, you're supposed to help," Elena said indignantly. "And I wasn't avoiding anyone—I've been busy with all of this," she motioned around her.

"Of course you were," Damon smirked.

Elena looked ready to retort, but some faithful minion called her away. Satisfied he was safe from streamer duty, Damon helped himself to a little liquid refreshment.

The guests started trickling in, and soon the happy couple of the hour were mingling amongst them—complete with squeals and 'let me see the ring' and endless rounds of 'it's really a very cute story…'

It didn't escape Damon's notice that Stefan still hadn't shown.

Damon stationed himself near the bar. His body was practically vibrating with danger signals—and if he couldn't have the good stuff, he'd have to settle for a nice scotch to keep calm. Besides, the bar provided a good vantage point of the room—not that he could find anything amiss. The only other person not seeming to enjoy himself was Jeremy, who sat in the opposite corner looking ready to bolt at any moment.

Jaw clicking with pent up energy, Damon moved across the dance floor, trying to pinpoint the source of his wariness.

That was when it hit him—like a punch to the gut, a great gust of wind and then flames. Everywhere, surrounding him on each side—_fire_.

The tight circle of intense heat had captured Jenna and two other women as well. It took every ounce of self-control Damon possessed not to vamp out in front of them—especially when the screaming started.

Through the fingers of flame—already approaching the ceiling at their full height—Damon caught sight of flashes of claw and fur, growls mixed with shouts and anguished cries of pain.

The bitter, metallic scent of blood reached his nose next.

"Damon!" Jenna shouted over the din, "what's going on?"

"Stay back," he bit out, pushing her behind him. The fire should have kept him in check, but he skirted its edges looking for any opening. He tried to bat the flames down with his jacket, but it turned to ashes in a green blaze.

The gap momentarily created did provide a millisecond's visage of Elena, red dress twisting as she struggled away from a masked attacker armed with a menacing syringe.

"Elena!" Damon shouted, baser instincts quickly taking over. He was ready to throw himself through—potentially lethal fire be damned—when Jenna grabbed his wrist.

"_That won't help her,_" she ground out, terror and determination mixed equally in her eyes.

Damon would have argued, if a puff of cool, white dust hadn't begun to settle on the inferno. He could now see Jeremy wielding a fire extinguisher, an expression of raw horror marring his features.

As soon as there was sufficient space, Damon made a beeline to Elena's side. "Are you okay?" he rasped, gripping her shoulders tightly. There was still chaos swirling around them, but Damon could only focus on her.

Elena nodded slowly, "I… I think so. Alaric… he pushed him—" she looked past him, her eyes snapping into focus. "Damon!" she gasped, pointing over his shoulder.

Damon turned in time to see Jenna pick up the silver cake server where it had fallen to the ground. "Get off of him, you gnarly _bastard_," she cried, plunging the makeshift weapon into the back of a particularly nasty looking werewolf. It whimpered, rolling off of its prey and careening for an exit. The rest of the pack was already ahead, Damon now took the time to notice. He considered running after them until he saw the mess the last wolf had left in its wake.

"Oh God," Jenna was muttering as she knelt to the ground. "Oh God, oh God, oh God…"

Damon hurried to her and to the man quaking on the ground, a large gash ripped across his chest. Pent up, primal energy coursing through him just moments before, Damon now felt as though he'd been doused in cold water.

"You are so stupid," Jenna was saying, tears running down her cheeks. "_I_ have the ring," holding up her right hand, where Alaric's 'family' ring fit snugly on her thumb, "you aren't invincible anymore."

"Tried—" Alaric attempted to speak, coughing up blood, "Elena was—"

"Shhh," Elena soothed, her voice hitching as she joined them on the floor. "Don't try to talk."

Damon peeled back the teacher's tattered shirt, trying to assess the damage. He could already hear the sirens approaching in the distance, but wasn't sure if they would arrive in time. And judging by the nearly overwhelming, sweet stench of blood, there were plenty of others to see to as well.

"Jenna," Damon said as evenly as he could, "put the ring on his finger, I don't know if it'll work but it's worth a try." He paused to deftly pierce his own wrist as Jenna fumbled with Alaric's hand, her eyes never leaving her fiancé's. "Ric, try to drink this," he held his wrist up to Alaric's mouth. He spluttered up the first few mouthfuls, and Damon doubted whether any would get into his system.

"It's working—but only a little," Elena said anxiously from behind him.

"Werewolf cuts," Damon sighed, "resistant to vampire healing powers. But it might buy us some time…" Damon pulled his wrist away as Alaric passed out—Damon could still hear his heart beating, albeit faint and erratic.

"Why would they attack us?" Jenna wondered aloud.

"They had help," Damon said darkly.

"What do you mean?" Elena asked, fear beginning to tinge the shock in her voice.

"That man that attacked you," Damon tensed. "And that wasn't any ordinary fire… they had help," he repeated.

"Help from who?" Elena pressed.

"If I had to guess," Damon looked back at Alaric, trying to put the pieces together, "I'd say sorcerers."

* * *

Elena stood slowly, disbelief clouding her already beleaguered mind. Just when she thought she'd gotten used to the supernatural landscape…

"Sorcerers?" she repeated Damon's words numbly. She looked around her—clusters of people much like her own little group, clutching at wounds, crying out in pain. Nearly every surface was slick with red.

"Elena…" a voice caught her attention from across the room. Elena looked to see Stefan standing in the entryway, eyes wide at the carnage before him.

The paramedics arrived behind him, hastily pushing Stefan aside as they entered the room. Several teams swarmed the small space, quickly appraising injuries. Elena moved to follow Jenna as the EMTs carefully lifted Alaric onto a stretcher. She felt as though she were seeing everything through a hazy filter on her brain.

Damon was already at the doorway. "_Where were you?_" he snarled at Stefan, but the younger Salvatore didn't seem to hear him. Damon's lip curled back in disgust, but he didn't waste any more time. Elena distantly wondered if he was going to track the wolves as he sped out the door, or if he would go to the hospital…

In her moment of distraction, Stefan had stepped past her and further into the room. Elena turned to see him crouching by an overturned table, an all too still body sprawled out before him.

Elena felt as if her feet were lead weights. She could only watch as Stefan stood again, running his fingers slowly through a gathering pool of blood.

"Stefan—" she managed to choke out, but her pulse was rushing in her ears, and she could hardly tell if she'd spoken more than a whisper.

Stefan was looking at his hand as if it held the key to his very existence. "Stefan, no!" Elena was calling, stronger now, her legs finally responding to her desire to move to him. But there were too many people in her path—all focused on their own tasks even as she alone looked on at the vampire in their midst. The vampire clearly struggling with his inner nature…

And just like that, Elena saw that first drop of blood reach his lips. She could only gasp as Stefan's eyes met hers; flashing the deep, dangerous crimson of the monster he tried so hard to keep at bay.

In the space of a breath, he was gone.

* * *

**A/N: Well—I tried to insert a bit of foreboding in those first two chapters as we set the stage, but I hope this doesn't constitute an unwanted/uninteresting plot twist. It all ties together, I promise—but we have to give them all a bit of adventure and complications, don't we?**

**Please leave a review—they really make my day!**


	4. Shaky Ground

**Author's Note: Thanks again for all of the reviews and alerts and favorites—I hope this chapter is enjoyable as well! **

**By the way, this is one those chapters that has some little references to the 'past,' which is actually the hypothetical 'future' for us—so please bear with me on those little details. They aren't essential to the basic story, but the other pieces to the past/future puzzle will be forthcoming to the careful reader. **

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

_**Four: **_**_Shaky Ground_**

* * *

Elena had been one of those children that never got sick; that was just careful enough to avoid breaking an arm or slicing a knee. She'd never had so much as two stitches. It had been a small source of pride, in a way, when she was younger.

But of course, that was before her parents died, before the accident that brought her back to this hospital for the first time since her little brother was born. And now, in the past three years, Elena had spent more time surrounded by these gray-white walls and speckled blue floors than she cared to remember.

It made her feel cold, this place. Incurably cold.

When Elena had woken up in the hospital bed all those years ago, she was quickly greeted by Jenna's worried, grief-stricken face. Yet as red and swollen as her eyes were, Jenna never let her tears fall. She led Elena as calmly as she could through those first few hours. Her aunt had been a revelation then, and Elena wished she could return the favor now.

But all Elena could do was sit and watch Jenna pace the five steps across the hospital room. Back and forth, back and forth... Every time Elena tried to focus in on a single thought, her mind careened into the next one, not allowing her to just _think_.

Normally, in a crisis, Elena couldn't stand to sit still. Couldn't stand to not be doing something, _anything _to try and help. Yet she couldn't even stir herself from her chair. Maybe tonight had held one too many sharp turns… Those poor people, Alaric, Stefan, the return of werewolves to Mystic Falls… She still had no idea what that man had been after with that syringe, she fretted, rubbing her neck reflexively.

And she _just couldn't think_.

She glanced at Jeremy against the far wall, seemingly trying to shrink himself into the shadows. On auto-pilot, Elena checked her phone. Its screen stared up at her, taunting her with its blank display.

Elena resisted calling Damon just yet, willing herself to be patient. If he still hadn't even sent her a text after four hours, he had to have a good reason.

He wasn't beholden to her, Elena reasoned. There wasn't anything wrong. There couldn't possibly be anything else wrong today...

Of course, Elena had been living, breathing in this other world long enough to know something else could always go wrong.

Truthfully, though, a part of Elena always retained a shred of belief that Damon could take care of himself. Stefan, however... She could see his face every time she closed her eyes, was transported straight back to that room in the Grill, felt her chest constrict in pain, fear, regret—just as it had then. It was his number she kept hoping to see on her caller ID, though she didn't know what she'd say if he ever returned her messages.

She couldn't shake the feeling of her life slowly crumbling as she tried desperately to put the pieces back together.

"Well, here you all are, I thought that nurse said the second left..."

_Damon_. Elena let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. He came into the room fully and shut the door, and Elena noticed he wasn't his usual neatly put together self. Of course, neither was she. Her dress was torn in several places and despite a half-hearted effort to clean herself off, she was still covered in soot and other substances she didn't want to name.

With a shade of barely noticeable disquiet, Damon seemed to take in her appearance with one appraising glance before turning his gaze on Jenna. Her aunt had stopped pacing when Damon came in, shoulders tensing in expectation of news from a doctor or nurse. She still hadn't moved, though her expression was taut.

"How is he?" Damon asked her quietly.

"They did the best they could when we came in, but they took him back for another round of surgery half an hour ago..." Jenna responded, voice flat. "Something about internal bleeding... I don't know, they aren't saying much."

"Do you want me to compel them for some answers?" Damon took a step closer. In the back of her mind, Elena registered that this didn't sound nearly as ridiculous as it probably should.

Jenna just shook her head. "It wouldn't change anything," she muttered, slumping into a chair and hugging herself tightly. "This isn't exactly a huge hospital, they're a bit beyond their capacity right now... They're letting us wait here in his room until he gets back," she added, voice cracking on the last word.

"Where were you?" Jeremy spoke up, directing an odd look at Damon.

Damon's jaw clicked and Elena thought she detected the little squint that she'd learned meant the wheels of his mind were spinning ten steps ahead of everyone else. "Trying to figure out what the hell happened tonight," he replied, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

"And?" Elena finally spoke up, feeling the hoarseness in her voice.

Damon looked at her for a long moment, and this time Elena felt the full force of his concern. "I tracked that last wolf to a temporary den they'd set up in Lee's Woods," he addressed the three of them, each in their own little corner of the room. "They weren't transforming so I couldn't learn anything useful—tried to capture one as leverage, get an audience. But six on one—I'm good, but I'm not suicidal."

Elena was relieved he hadn't let his temper get the better of him—Damon was never exactly careless, but when it came to the people he cared about… Then again, she wasn't completely convinced. "That's all..?"

"The one that attacked Ric was an unfortunate casualty of my getaway," Damon admitted with a cold smirk, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Jenna's eyes widened slightly at this news, but her countenance held a measure of steely resolve. "So we still have no idea what we did to attract the wrath of a pack of werewolves?" she asked bitterly.

"They're brutes," Damon scoffed, "hired guns."

"So you still think there was someone else behind this?" Elena asked, though she wouldn't have to be persuaded—that masked man…

"Yes," Damon nodded. "Though I'd like to know where that pack came in from—there hasn't been much lycan activity in the area since…" he trailed off.

"You don't think Tyler Lockwood..?" Jenna voiced the thought that had crossed each of their minds.

"He wouldn't," Elena replied firmly, "not after what happened to Caroline."

"I never trusted that guy," Damon grimaced.

"It wasn't Tyler," Jeremy cut off that line of consideration with authority—more than Elena had heard him muster for anything lately.

This time, Elena knew she saw that squint flit across Damon's features.

Jenna shook her head, blinking tiredly. "I'm going to need some coffee," she sighed, standing.

"I'll get it for you, Aunt Jenna," Elena said, finally having jarred herself into usefulness.

"It's okay, kiddo," Jenna said with a small, strained smile. "I could use a longer walk than the few steps across this little room."

"Okay," Elena tried for a reassuring smile, feeling as though her brain was starting to wake up. She couldn't quite admit to herself that Damon's presence might have something to do with that.

"I'm glad you're here," Jenna added quietly to Damon, patting his arm briefly on her way out the door.

"Yea…" Jeremy said, standing as well, "I'm thirsty, too. I'll just… yea," he went on awkwardly, trying to avoid the stare Damon was giving him.

No sooner had Jeremy's foot crossed the threshold than Damon had sped after him. Elena, caught off-guard, hurried to follow. Out in the hallway, Damon had already positioned himself in Jeremy's path.

"Dude, get out of my way," Jeremy crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels defensively.

"Damon, what are you—?" Elena started to ask, confused, but he cut her off.

"What do you know?" Damon glared at Jeremy, ignoring Elena.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jeremy replied stonily.

"Yes, you do," Damon said quietly.

"You're wacked, man," Jeremy mocked, trying to shoulder past the older vampire.

"Wrong move, kid," Damon bit out, easily shoving Jeremy back and into a darkened room.

"Damon!" Elena gasped, darting after them and shutting the door to the empty space. Damon had Jeremy up against the far wall, forearm lodged across his collarbone.

"You've been shifty for days, even for you," Damon's eyes narrowed.

"I've had a lot on my mind," Jeremy snapped.

"You were there, on the far side of the room—and then all of a sudden you weren't. Then you show up with that fire extinguisher and not a hair out of place," Damon applied more pressure. Elena clearly heard the bone snap.

"Damon, you're hurting him," Elena tried to step forward, feeling things starting to spin out of control, but he shrugged her off.

"He'll heal," Damon ground out.

"I'm sorry if I saved your life," Jeremy winced under Damon's stranglehold. "And Jenna's," he added, "and those two women."

"Too bad you weren't quick enough to save everyone else," Damon countered sarcastically. "You know I'm sure I counted three hearts stop beating; just _poof_," he gestured with his free hand, "ceased to exist."

"Damon…" Elena said, warningly, though she was watching Jeremy's expression closely. She thought she could tell when he was lying—Stefan and Damon had taught him a lot about being a vampire, but their skills for duplicity weren't so easily passed on.

"Elena," Damon said evenly, "he _knows_ something, trust me. Now little Gilbert, did you just run off when things looked bad or did you know what was coming?"

"Are you calling me a coward?" Jeremy spat out, his veins starting to protrude.

"Either that or you've sold out your entire family," Damon laughed mirthlessly. "Do I need to snap your sternum to find out? Because that one really _stings_."

Jeremy just glared, eyes growing darker and redder by the moment. "Jeremy, is any of that true?" Elena asked, searching her brother's face, not wanting to believe it.

Jeremy looked from her to Damon, but remained silent.

"You want to play it that way?" Damon glared. "_Fine_," he punctuated his words by throwing the younger vampire into the wall and plunging his thumbs into his eyes, causing Jeremy to howl out in pain.

"Damon!" Elena cried, horrified, but was rebuffed yet again.

"Don't you like that?" Damon taunted, looming over Jeremy as the he tried to cover his eyes. "Something I learned from Pearl—you know, _Anna's _mother. My God," he mocked, "what would little Annabelle think of you now?"

"I did it for her!" Jeremy panted, collapsing to the floor. Anxious as she had been to come between the two vampires in an increasingly intense situation, Elena felt as though she'd been slapped by the admission.

"_What?_" Damon demanded quietly.

"For Anna…" Jeremy said miserably, hiding his face in his hands.

"Don't tell me you're still hung up on that girl," Damon practically sneered.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jeremy glared back, eyes bloody but newly intact, "how long were you carrying a torch for Katherine?"

"She wasn't _dead_," Damon's nostrils flared, dragging Jeremy back up against the wall.

"Maybe Anna doesn't have to be either," Jeremy's jaw tensed.

"What are you talking about?" Elena asked, muscles tense as she looked between the two vampires. She still couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew Jeremy was still having problems, that he rarely listened to any of them or did what they thought he should, but _this_...

"They said they'd bring her back if I helped them," Jeremy muttered miserably, petulant resolve beginning to falter.

"That's impossible," Damon's eyes narrowed.

"Not for them," Jeremy insisted, as if he had to believe it were true.

"Who's 'them'?" Damon pressed, keeping a firm grip on Jeremy's lapels.

"I don't know," Jeremy tried to glare back, but only succeeded in grimacing. "I only dealt with the wolves."

"But there _was _someone else?" Damon questioned.

"I've never seen werewolves bring the undead back to life, have you?" Jeremy tried for sarcasm.

"I've never seen _anyone _do that," Damon retorted.

"And the great Damon knows all, right?" Jeremy jeered.

"Enough!" Elena snapped. "Jer, people _died_, Alaric—" she broke off, not able to speak his uncertain fate.

"No one was supposed to get hurt…" Jeremy wouldn't look at her.

"Woops," Damon snarked.

"I just gave them a schedule, made sure they had access," Jeremy protested. "I don't know why they wouldn't just let me get it…"

"_Get what_?" Damon quirked his mouth.

"They just said they wanted some of Elena's blood…" Jeremy tried to shrug, but inhaled sharply as Damon's hand came to a chokehold around his neck.

"Damon," Elena cautioned. No matter what Jeremy had done, this was already going too far. The waves of intensity radiating off of the older vampire made Elena nervous. "_Damon_," she said again.

"Elena, do you understand what he's saying—this little punk was willing to do anything; he didn't care what happened to _you_, or _anyone _else—and all for a long shot at _best_," Damon argued, eyes never leaving Jeremy's face.

"Sounds like someone else I know," Elena countered, too universally confused and angry and worried to care that it was a low blow.

Damon's grip faltered at this, allowing Jeremy to slip down and make a break for the door. Damon moved to give chase but Elena stood in his way.

"I don't understand you," Damon snapped impatiently. "How can you defend him?"

"I'm _not_," Elena tried to focus her thoughts. "But you're just driving him away. I feel like I've already lost him…"

"After what he's done, why would you care?" Damon asked, voice low.

"He hasn't been the same ever since Anna died…" Elena sighed. "He wasn't good before that, either, but with her… I can understand why he'd jump at the chance to have her back."

"You shouldn't be so quick to forgive," Damon was very close to her now.

Elena got the feeling he wasn't just talking about Jeremy. She knew Damon didn't think he deserved her understanding for all his years of mayhem, whether they were committed out of love or not. But then, if she was willing to make the comparison, she also knew that Damon had never let anyone hurt Stefan—and she didn't believe it was just to make Stefan's prolonged life miserable on his own terms. And Damon was right—Katherine was alive, so to speak. If Jeremy was willing to go to these lengths, if he was this desperate… Maybe she didn't know what her little brother was capable of.

"Maybe not," Elena conceded, though she refused to give up—not yet. "But I won't let you go after him tonight or we'll both regret it," she said firmly, desperately hoping Jeremy would pay them the same courtesy. "What's done is done—besides, I think we have more pressing problems."

"More pressing than _this_?" Damon raised an eyebrow.

"Have you seen Stefan…?" Elena asked, wishing she was mistaken—and knowing she wasn't.

"Didn't he come here?" Damon asked, tension ratcheting up impossibly higher.

"No…" Elena hesitated, but she didn't think she was worrying over nothing—not after she'd seen that desperate, maniacal look in Stefan's eyes. "After you left—Stefan, he… All the blood," she finished simply, begging Damon to understand her without needing to say more.

"Baby brother lost control?" Damon guessed in a voice that said annoyance but with a grimace that screamed worry.

"It wasn't much, but he drew his finger…" Elena closed her eyes against the memory.

"Hey…" Damon said softly, as she felt his hands rest gently on her shoulders. Elena opened her eyes to gaze up in his blue ones, seeking comfort in their depths. "I'll go find him—it doesn't have to get out of hand."

Elena nodded, though she was afraid things were already rocketing out of their grasp. "Why is _everything _going wrong today?"

"I guess we were overdue," Damon deadpanned.

Elena shook her head, blowing the air out of her cheeks as she leaned back against the door. "I think I should go back to the Boarding House in case Stefan goes there."

"No, you should stay here," Damon argued quickly. "I don't like the idea of you being there on your own, unprotected. We don't know if whoever attacked today got what they wanted—or if Jeremy even had the whole story," he added with a disgusted edge.

"There's nothing saying I'd be much safer here—they obviously don't have any misgivings against attacking in crowds or hurting innocent people," Elena countered bitterly.

Damon's eyes narrowed in that way they always did when she challenged his opinion.

"I can call you if I see or hear anything strange—and if you can get me in quickly, no one even has to know I'm there," Elena wheedled, unable to tell if she was wearing him down.

"If I'm right about the sorcerers, they have more than a few tricks, Elena—this isn't like anything you've come up against before," Damon crossed his arms.

"I can take care of myself," Elena lifted her chin, set her shoulders back. "And besides, I know I have you backing me up."

"Yes, you do," Damon responded quietly, looking at her with a mix of admiration and irritated unease.

"Thank you," Elena whispered sincerely, reaching forward to snake her arms around his back and lean her head tiredly on his chest. His arms found their way around her with less uncertainty than they once had, his chin coming to rest comfortably against the crown of her forehead.

It wasn't the 'five minutes' they'd usually take, but it did the job. Elena longed for the night to end better than it started, doubting that either of them could make it unscathed through another bad turn.

Even stolen moments in darkened hospital rooms could only bring you back to center so many times before something was bound to break.

* * *

**A/N: Well that was a bit of a longer, plodding one again, but necessary. I hope the pace was readable… Please hit that review button and let me know what you thought!**


	5. Forlorn, Forgone, Forewarned

**Author's Note: Hello everyone, and thanks for sticking with me! I understand there has been some confusion on the timeline, so please allow me the opportunity to clarify if necessary… This story is a companion to _Easy Like That_—they can be read separately, but they both hit upon my version of the immediate future for our characters. _Easy Like That_ is five moments that take place at indeterminate times within the next three years from our/the show's present. **

**Chapter 5 of _Easy Like That_ is what spawned this story, so it is more closely tied to that event, and so that chapter and this story take place about 3 years from 'now.' Incidentally, the chapter you are now reading brings us up to the exact moment of chapter 5 of _Easy Like That_. The attentive reader will certainly recognize much of the dialogue, but this is told from Damon's point of view. If you're curious about Elena's perspective, I encourage you to read chapter 5 of _Easy Like That _which is centered on her thoughts. **

**Now then, I'll stop babbling on and get to the meat of things—enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

_**Five: **_**_Forlorn, Forgone, Forewarned _**

* * *

Damon skirted the woods around the Boarding House, making certain they didn't have any unwanted observers. Even after all these years, it amazed him how finely honed his vampire-enhanced senses could be.

And after the night he'd had, he was more on edge than usual. Every snapped branch, every new scent, every little rustle had his complete attention.

Damon had spent the several three hours searching everywhere he could think of for his brother, but Stefan was nowhere to be found. Every time Damon thought he picked up the trail, it would go cold within minutes. Stefan was being especially crafty—and Damon suspected that meant Stefan's baser desires were directing his motivations and instincts.

It was a situation from which no one would likely benefit…

Satisfied that no one was watching, Damon made his way stealthily to the back door. He allowed his hearing to siphon all extraneous sounds, easily picking out Elena's heartbeat pulsing strong and steady from amongst them.

It frightened him how attuned he was to that easy rhythm.

Walking into the kitchen suddenly made him realize how hungry and exhausted he was. He drained a pint quickly, discarding it on his way to the stairs. Elena's voice floated down from the floor above—obviously leaving the most recent of many messages.

"Stefan," Elena was saying tiredly, "_please_ listen to me. Whatever you're going through, we can work through it. Just… just come home…" Her phone clicked closed as she let out a heavy sigh.

Damon found her leaning against Stefan's headboard with her eyes lightly closed. He leaned in the doorway, taking the moment to consider her unseen. She'd showered and changed out of that ragged red dress, but her face held the same lines of worry they had earlier.

She looked so small, huddled in the middle of the unmade bed.

And _still_, she was trying to coax Stefan back into her arms. "Do you mean that?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Don't start with me, Damon," Elena snapped. "Wait—" she said suddenly, as if remembering he wasn't just there to push her buttons. "Did you find Stefan?"

"No," he responded shortly, not seeing the use in sugar coating it. He ran his finger absently along Stefan's cluttered table as he moved further into the room.

"Then why aren't you still out tracking him?" Elena asked impatiently, sitting forward to glare at him pointedly.

Honestly, didn't she know him at all?

"Where do you think I've been for the past three hours?" Damon countered, allowing his own frustration to color his response. "Vampires are harder to track than humans, I'll have you know—and my little brother was always quite adept at playing hide and seek."

"Well you'll just have to try harder," Elena huffed.

"I will," Damon ground out. He didn't come back here for further abuse. "I came back to check on _you_."

Damon held Elena's fiery gaze with as much intensity as possible, though he felt as though her eyes were cutting right through him. Even so, perhaps she saw something there as her features softened. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely, "I just feel so… useless."

There again was the lost little girl in her posture. Trusting that a closer approach wouldn't result in his head being bit off, Damon crossed the remaining distance to her perch. Nonetheless, he felt an unusual sense of impropriety sitting with her on his brother's bed. "How many messages was that?" he asked quietly as he sat carefully on the corner at a right angle to her, not looking her in the eye.

"Thirty-seven…" Elena admitted dejectedly.

Damon's mouth pressed into a grim line, running over their options. The longer they let this problem fester, the worse it would be for everyone involved. "If I haven't found him by morning, you can help me try the compass," he offered, hoping he could find a way to keep her protected while they searched. "Or we can ask Bonnie to attempt a locator spell, though they're notoriously unreliable on the undead," he added. That was all depending, of course, on whether Bonnie would be willing to help them after they told her the reason—at least she wasn't in Mystic Falls to make immediate good on any old threats…

Elena nodded silently, and while he could tell he wouldn't need to emphasize the gravity of their situation, he wanted to give her her usual sense of hope back. "But Elena," he finally faced her. "We don't know yet where this little episode falls on the Stefan Setback-O-Meter. It might not be as bad as last time…" he trailed off, not sure if he even believed that.

"But it could be worse," Elena finished the thought, and Damon wondered if, as usual, he'd just made it worse.

He would never lie to her, though, and so he nodded and held her gaze. "Yes," he agreed simply. "And Stefan may have to get over the initial hurdle on his own," he continued, wanting them both to be aware of the reality.

"_No_," Elena answered quickly, "what if he hurts someone? What if he hurts himself?"

It was the first question he was more concerned about—and the one he didn't have an answer to. Having the Sheriff on your side and finally knowing a measure of the truth wouldn't count for much if Liz Forbes learned that Stefan was stepping out of turn. "I don't think he's a danger to himself—not yet. The lure will be too strong," Damon answered the only question he could, though he spoke with more conviction than he felt.

"I should have stopped him…" Elena berated herself miserably, drawing her knees up to her chest, and running both hands through her hair. Her eyes glazed over with memory. "I should have realized, after the attack, that he… There was just so much blood," she finished on a haunted whisper.

Damon couldn't let her go down that road. "We _will_ find him," he tried to reassure her. "He won't really be hungry until later—not physically, anyway. You know Stefan, he'll hold out as long as he can. We'll find him before he does anything stupid. Anything _else_…"

"Why didn't it affect you the same? Being in that room—surrounded by it all?" Elena asked him in a small voice.

"It did," Damon said slowly, remembering the dull ache that represented denial of your own primal hunger. He'd had a few other things distracting him at the time, of course. Even so, he'd long since learned how to stave off those urges—at least for a little while. "I just have more control," he clarified. "I don't deny what I am. You know this."

Elena sighed again. Damon pressed forward. "You're basically dating an addict, Elena, this comes with the territory. You know that, too, after last time."

"Last time…" Elena turned away from him, away from the reminder of what had transpired before, of how disastrous this might be. "Last time we could tell ourselves it was a matter of life or death—that if he hadn't taken the blood…" she continued, and Damon couldn't dwell on the fact that it had been her blood, her life. "This time," she swallowed hard, "this time there are no convenient excuses."

"He would have resisted if he could have," Damon offered, wondering if it was even true. Why should he even defend Stefan? Resistance had never been his brother's strong suit—not with Katherine, not with their father, and certainly not with his moronic attitude towards blood.

"Sometimes I think you might be right about the human blood…" Elena barely said aloud. "If Stefan did it the right way, bloodbanks and everything—got used to it… If you taught him how to master it, then maybe…"

Damon allowed a wry smirk to twist his lips. "Much as you know I enjoy being right, Stefan would never go for it."

"Not even if I suggested it?" Elena asked, biting her lip.

Damon turned to consider her carefully. Goodness knows his life would be easier if Stefan would see reason—but he wasn't so sure of the ramifications anymore. Besides, he'd stopped thinking only of his own convenience. "Is that really what you'd want?" he questioned, wondering how serious she might be, how much she'd considered the implications of such a decision.

"I don't know…" she responded honestly. "I'm afraid he'll be a different person. Stefan on human blood isn't the guy I fell in love with… not really. But I don't know," she repeated. "How many times can he relapse without repercussions? How many times can he come back from that place?"

"It's all very _Jekyll and Hyde_, isn't it?" Damon muttered sarcastically. Why did they let Stefan cause them both so much grief? As much reluctant progress as they'd made as brothers, Damon couldn't ignore what Stefan was doing to Elena, and it royally irked him, to say the least.

"What's normal for him?" Elena continued—she seemed to be genuinely asking.

"Don't forget," Damon replied, unwilling to take that one on, "this is by far the longest he and I have been in the same place since we were… alive. We've both changed a lot, since then," he was pulled off into the past as the memories flooded his senses, unbidden. "It became difficult a long time ago to determine what 'normal' was."

Elena grew silent, and Damon allowed her to get lost in her thoughts as he fought off his own.

"I can't stay in here," Elena said suddenly, jarring him out of his reverie as she launched herself off of the bed and made her way purposefully across the room and into the hallway.

Damon didn't rush after her, hearing her stop cold a foot across the threshold and sink down against the wall. He came to stand in front of her, looking down at her with uncharacteristic indecision. He wished his words could do more for her, but perhaps the best thing he could offer was to renew his search for the wayward son… "I'll go back out, now," he crouched down, needing to look her in the eye. "Just a phone call away if you need anything," he tried for an easy grin as he brandished his cell in the air, though the wry smile slipped disobediently.

Damon supposed the weary nod Elena mustered in response was the best he was going to get, but it didn't make him feel any better about leaving. Still, he forced himself to rise. At the last moment, Elena surprised him with a small but firm grip to his wrist. "Stay," she requested earnestly. "Just for a few minutes. Stay…"

How could he say no to her?

Still, it felt like a bad idea on so many levels… He felt his shoulders tense as he let Elena pull him to the floor where he sat just a few inches from her small frame. In the silence, Damon had never been more aware of her pulse fluttering beside him. It metered every second, every minute with unfaltering certainty.

Damon chanced only a few glances at Elena, watching her mind spin furiously. She seemed to be building up the courage to say something.

"I'm glad you're here," she said at last, lightly resting her fingers on the back of his hand.

Damon was sure she didn't realize she was echoing Jenna's words from earlier that night, but as much as they'd meant then, they held even greater import falling from Elena's lips. He couldn't believe how much had changed since his return to Mystic Falls, how much he'd come to care for those small gestures.

He gently moved under her touch, driven to repay her kindness. His arm found its way easily around her shoulders. "I'm glad I'm here, too," he said huskily, dropping a swift kiss to her temple before he thought better of it.

Her resolve seemed to falter for the first time as her eyes shut against the menace of oncoming tears. Damon drew her into him instinctively and Elena burrowed into his side. It amazed him how comfortably she nestled into his shoulder and swiftly took his free hand in her own.

God help him, he loved this girl.

Maybe he wasn't quite there when Isobel first voiced the thought out loud all those years ago. After all, he still had quite a few more mistakes to make**—**many of them, unfortunately, with Katherine.

But Elena wasn't Katherine and she never had been, for him. He was finally starting to realize that whatever he felt for her was far different as well.

Of course he shouldn't feel this way**—**it would only invite further disaster, surely. And yet he was tied to her, needed her.

What a mess he'd made...

All the same, he gently squeezed her hand, because he couldn't _not_ try to show her how much she'd come to mean to him.

"Are you going to leave me?" she spoke the fear that anyone who'd been so continually and inexplicably and unfairly abandoned by nearly everyone she cared for could not be expected to resist.

"No, Elena…" he answered, feeling the unavoidable truth of his words. "I'm not going anywhere."

He just hoped she wouldn't one day want to leave him.

Damon listened as the rhythm of Elena's heart slowed to a steady, slumbering beat. She drifted into sleep as he held her, wishing he could erase the small frown that turned her lips. At least he could allow her a few moments of rest.

They sat there in the hallway as dawn fast approached, the coming sun peaking out behind the curtains at the end of the hall.

It was then that Damon heard a distinct noise outside.

He sat up straighter, not wanting to disturb Elena over what might only be an overzealous squirrel.

Hoping not to wake her unnecessarily, Damon carefully shifted to lift her in his arms. He stood in the hall for a moment, turning his head in hesitation. He considered depositing her in Stefan's bed, but after her strong and sudden desire to escape the room, he thought better of it.

And selfishly, he wasn't too keen on leaving her there. The guest rooms being unmade and closed up left only one option. Shaking his head at the irony, Damon deposited her gently on his own down matress. She only murmured and twisted in her sleep.

It was all he could do not to reach out to her again...

Descending the stairs slowly, the sound came again. It was louder this time, like uneven and unsteady footsteps. He was beginning to regret leaving Elena alone and unprotected.

Tracing the source of the noise to the front of the house, Damon decided a surprise entrance was plan enough. He threw open the heavy front door, muscles tense and ready, only to be visibly shaken at the sight directly before him.

Stefan leaned, haggard and panting, against the door frame. His veins were pronounced and his eyes red and terrified, a long, thin tree branch clutched incongruously in his right hand.

"Stefan..." Damon began slowly, unable to ignore the blood trickling from the corner of his brother's mouth. "Stefan, don't let it control you**—**"

Damon was cut off by the intensity of the gaze Stefan now directed at him, as though seeing Damon properly for the first time.

"Please," Stefan moaned, tilting dangerously, "_help me_."

And with that, Damon could only watch as his little brother swiftly shoved the tree branch like the rudimentary stake it was into his own waiting abdomen, crying out in anguish.

All Damon could do was catch him as he fell, and hope Stefan's aim had landed well south of his heart.

* * *

**A/N: I wish I'd been fast enough to finish this story before the season premiere tomorrow—but goodness knows I don't have that kind of time! :) Though I have the luxury of having set this story three years in the hypothetical future, knowing how quickly plot twists come on the show I'm sure I won't be able to avoid going a little AU. I'll adjust as much as possible, but I'm sure it can't entirely be helped. I do feel though, that the basics of this story are possible, even if a few of the details and particulars might lose a bit of relevancy as time goes on and things change. I hope you'll agree!**

**I fully intend to finish as well and as quickly as possible though, so I hope you'll stick with me (even as anything I write pales in comparison to what we all have the pleasure of watching). In the meantime, please leave a review and enjoy the new season!**


	6. Momentum

**Author's Note: Well that was quite a premiere last week, wasn't it? I'll just go ahead and put in a general SPOILER ALERT in case I mention something in a note or when I inevitably bring in some point or development as background for this story.**

**Again, I can't avoid going a little AU here-though I maintain that the basic premise of this holds as a future-oriented story... But I couldn't possibly compare or keep up with whatever delightful twists and turns they have in store for us on the show. So I'm going to have fun with this and see where it goes—I hope you'll stick with me and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

_**Six: Momentum**_****

* * *

Elena woke suddenly, though she couldn't immediately identify the reason for her interrupted slumber. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dim morning light, and her body and mind were unusually slow to take in her surroundings.

It was only upon sitting up that she remembered she hadn't fallen asleep in a _bed_—in fact, she hardly remembered falling asleep at all... And yet here she was... In Damon's room?

What was she doing in Damon's room..?

"_ELENA!_"

Elena was instantly alert, all questions abandoned as she jumped out of the bed. The harried tone of Damon's bellowed yell told her that it was his cry that must have awakened her in the first place.

Racing down the stairs, her mind flew over the possibilities—at what new horror she might find downstairs.

Elena certainly wasn't expecting what she found, and gasped as she reached the bottom landing.

"You are _such_ an _idiot_," Damon was muttering angrily as he pulled Stefan up against the couch.

"Damon!" Elena cried sharply as she saw the branch protruding from Stefan's side. "_What did you do?_"

"_I_ didn't do anything," Damon retorted. "He did this to himself, which is why he is such an _IDIOT_," Damon punctuated the last word by yanking the impromptu stake from his brother's stomach. Stefan groaned as his head lolled.

Elena came fully into the room, making her way quickly to Stefan's side. "To himself?" she asked in disbelief. "Why?"

Stefan seemed to be coming to, his eyes fluttered open—still crimson and savage. He lunged towards her with a guttural growl, forcing Elena to jump backwards, her heart hammering in her throat.

"Ohhh, _no_," Damon grunted as he held Stefan back, "she is _not_ your next snack."

"Stefan," Elena whispered, trying to see the man she knew in his features. "Stefan, _fight this_, please..."

She could see the struggle in his face, but Damon was still working hard to hold him off. The older vampire turned to her, mouthing '_vervain_' before he brandished the bloody stick in his brother's face. "Stefan, _come on_, don't..."

Elena didn't hear what else was said, as she was already running towards the basement. Stefan had once insisted that she take over the cultivation of their late uncle's small vervain crop. He'd also insisted that she hide a portion somewhere neither he, nor Damon, could find it.

She'd hoped she'd never have to use it. Could hardly believe she was doing so now...

Elena clutched at the worn stones, searching for the loose one she knew was there. She finally found it, pulling it out with shaking fingers as she scrabbled for a dart in the darkness. As her hand closed over the metal, she grasped it firmly and hurried back upstairs.

It looked like Damon was having little success in calming his brother, and Elena wasn't sure how she'd be able to get close enough. But before she could even contemplate her next move, Damon had spun Stefan around and sped towards her. In the split second she had to react, Elena instinctively thrust the vervain-laced needle into his back

The blood left Stefan's face slowly as his jaw slackened and he crumpled slowly to the floor, supported by Damon and Elena on each side.

"Well," Damon glanced at Stefan and then met her eyes with a bitter sarcasm. "I think this is what they call _déjà vu_."

* * *

Elena watched Stefan intently through the small window in the cellar door—waiting for what, she wasn't sure.

"What are we going to do..?" she finally said aloud, turning to face Damon where he leaned against the wall behind her.

"About Stefan, your petulant twerp of a brother, or the various baddies after your blood?" Damon quipped darkly, arms crossed.

Elena rolled her eyes, though the point was well taken. When it rained, it poured…

And then poured again.

"I left a message for Jer," Elena adopted Damon's posture, leaning against the door. "Told him what was going on with Stefan, asked him to come talk to us—or to me, at least."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," Damon said quickly, and she noticed his eyes never strayed too far from the view of the room behind her either.

"He's my brother, Damon."

"That's obviously no guarantee after what he did," Damon pointed out.

"He made a mistake," Elena sighed.

"Some mistake…"

"We're not arguing about this again," Elena said firmly. "We're going to have to deal with him one way or another, and—" Elena was cut off by a buzzing in her pocket.

Elena pulled out her phone hurriedly. "Aunt Jenna!" she half-exclaimed, ashamed she hadn't thought to check in recently.

"Elena!" Jenna sounded somewhat relieved. "Where have you been? I've been trying you for the last hour."

"I'm sorry, we've been in the basement. I guess I don't have good reception down here," Elena frowned.

"In the basement, why—?" Jenna began, confused, but Elena jumped in.

"It's a long story, I'll explain later—how's Alaric?"

"Much better," Jenna said with a deep breath. "Once he came back out of surgery, they moved him to the ICU. But now they can't understand how's he's healing so quickly…" Elena could hear the wry grin in her aunt's voice.

"I guess Damon's blood was good for something after all," Elena smiled with a look at the donor in question. Damon raised a bemused eyebrow in return, clearly listening in.

"I guess so," Jenna agreed. "But Elena, there's something else…"

Elena's heart sped up again as Jenna paused.

"Did something happen with Jeremy?" her aunt asked carefully.

Elena knew Jenna wouldn't be satisfied by half-answers, though she wouldn't like being put off again either. "Did he do something?" Elena deflected instead.

"I found a note in my bag when I got back from the ICU," Jenna said, and Elena could hear her rustling with a piece of paper. "It says he got your message, but he doesn't know how to make things right. He says he's leaving, Elena," Jenna went on worriedly, "and that we shouldn't try to follow him."

Elena stood up straighter. This was exactly what she was afraid of—Jeremy might want them to push him away, but she couldn't give up on him, she could _never_ give up on him… "Is that all?" she asked, biting her lip weakly. "He didn't say anything else?"

"Well," Jenna added, obviously concerned and trying to stay calm, "there's a postscript at the bottom—he found a body in the woods, that he assumes you'll know where it came from… and that he's taking care of it, because it's all his fault anyhow. What is he talking about, Elena?"

Elena felt as though the blood had frozen in her veins. A body in the woods that was somehow Jeremy's fault? That he felt obligated to clean up? Damon was looking at her intently, his expression all the confirmation she needed and all she wanted to deny. Slowly, she turned around and looked anew at the form lying against the far wall. Surely Stefan didn't…

"Elena?" Jenna asked again.

"I promise we'll explain everything as soon as we can," Elena said hurriedly. "But right now I have to go."

"Elena, what's—?"

"I'm sorry, Jenna—soon, I promise," and with that, Elena ended the call and pulled back the heavy bar on the door.

"Elena, wait," Damon was behind her, holding her back.

"What?" Elena practically spat. "You won't let him hurt me," she said impatiently. "We need to talk to him."

"Elena…" Damon looked at her with an expression she couldn't quite place—something between pity and resignation. She couldn't understand how he could be so calm.

"_What?_" she asked again, staring him down. She was done waiting. She was done standing back while the other shoe dropped right on their heads.

"Fine," Damon shook his head. As soon as he held up his hands she strode purposefully into the little room.

"_Stefan_," Elena shook her boyfriend's shoulder violently, not caring to keep her emotions in check. "Stefan, _wake up!_"

Stefan slowly rolled towards her, obviously weakened by the vervain. He looked up at her sadly, and her chest ached at the pain in his eyes.

"Stefan," she said more evenly, "_what happened_?"

Stefan looked from her to Damon, who she could feel standing alertly just inches away. "I think…" Stefan swallowed hard. "I _know_… I killed someone."

* * *

**A/N: Apologies for more of a filler chapter and another cliffhanger-ish ending. I had intended to do more in this installment, but I felt it was already winding on a bit and this seemed a better place to stop. I'll try to update as soon as possible with a meatier chapter—lots of fun confrontation between these three to come!**

**In the meantime, enjoy tonight's episode and leave me your thoughts on this! Thanks so much for reading… :)**


	7. Exercises in Futility

**Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone for the reviews/favorites/alerts—I hope this chapter inspires more of that, they really make my day! **

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Seven: Exercises in Futility _**

* * *

When you have supernaturally enhanced hearing, it's never really _quiet_. Yet in the wake of Stefan's pronouncement, Damon was sure even the dottiest, deafest old grandmother could have heard a pin drop.

His baby brother killed someone... Of course, this wouldn't be _quite_ so unusual if it hadn't happened to some unsuspecting human just because Stefan couldn't maintain any semblance of control over his bloodlust.

Damon supposed this turn of events ought to make him angry. It certainly was _inconvenient_, not to mention dangerous for their future in Mystic Falls. And he was really quite tired of treading carefully when Stefan could screw up so royally and usually get away with it.

Still, Damon couldn't bring himself to rail against his brother for something he, himself, had done countless times with little to no remorse—albeit not recently, and not nearly so irresponsibly—but most certainly done, nonetheless.

At least, he was having a hard time mustering the anger when Stefan had that anguished look on his face.

It was funny; he hadn't quite intended to become a big brother again. If he was being honest, Damon knew he'd never exactly stopped—he'd just let (or pushed) their relationship to some twisted, backwards version of brotherhood. Still, he didn't think the role had ever been his forté. But now...

Now Damon felt empathy and protectiveness surge ahead of his annoyance.

Which was mildly annoying in and of itself.

Elena, for all the fire she'd possessed just moments ago, had gone completely cold. Whatever reaction Damon had expected, this wasn't it.

She rocked back on her heels, two fingers hovering in front of her lips, refusing to look her boyfriend in the eye.

"_Elena_..." Stefan was saying, pitifully trying to haul himself into a sitting position. "Elena, I'm so sorry, I never meant..." he went on desperately. He tried to reach for her, but she just pushed him away and stood slowly, retreating to the far wall.

Damon couldn't tell what might be going through her mind—the utterly blank look in her eyes provided no real insights that he could decipher. He _could_ tell, however, that Stefan had a ways to go before regaining the preternatural calm he usually employed to clamp down upon his emotions.

Stefan tried, feebly, to move off of the bench but Damon stepped into his way. "_Hey_, focus," he said sternly, forcing Stefan to turn his shell-shocked gaze away from Elena. "What exactly did you do?"

Stefan closed his eyes miserably. "Oh God..." he muttered. "Damon... It... It was so much worse this time. Every time... it just gets worse."

Damon's jaw twitched as he bent down to his brother's eye level. He'd always speculated—and feared—that the desire for human blood would only intensify the longer Stefan tried to repress it. "Okay..." he said slowly, fighting the urge to berate Stefan for never listening to him, but unable to keep the tinge of frustration from his voice. "Okay. So it was bad, you couldn't help yourself, and then what?"

"I don't know..." Stefan shook his head morosely. "I was in the woods... and there was a guy... a hiker, maybe. I don't know... Oh God, I have to go find his body, I have to—"

"Stefan," Damon cut him off quickly. "Jeremy already did, it's taken care of. Was there anyone else? Did anyone see you?"

"No... No, I don't think so..." Stefan answered quietly. "But whoever he was," Stefan went on, eyes mournfully fierce as his voice gained volume, "he had a family, someone who cared about him, and I... _and I_—"

"Stefan," Damon stopped him again, taking him by the shoulders. Forcing Stefan to look at him, all Damon could see was the little boy who used to come to his big brother when he'd broken a dish or scraped his knee. Except this time, the pain and fear and guilt in those green eyes was enough to knock the air out of Damon's lungs—if there'd been any to begin with, anyhow.

"Stefan," Damon started again, softer this time. "You asked for my help, so let me help you. It happened, all right? There's nothing you can do about it. And I'm not going to let you go turn yourself in or anything else foolishly noble, just to create mass hysteria and get yourself killed. Okay? It's... unfortunate, but like it or not we are vampires and _it happened_. You lost control and there were consequences. That's it. So we need to figure out a way to move forward because you can't go back now."

Stefan swallowed hard and nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced.

"Good, now drink this," Damon released his hold on Stefan to draw a flask from his jacket pocket. This really was a waste of good liquor...

"What is it?" Stefan eyed it skeptically.

"Bourbon for _your_ nerves, a little vervain insurance for mine. Everybody wins," Damon intoned with flash of a smirk. No need to stay down in that pit of despair any longer… "So bottoms up!" he tilted the flask toward Stefan again.

Stefan took the ornate silver container with a heavy sigh, and took a big gulp. The grimace of pain that contorted his features and the gasp that escaped his lips was almost enough to wipe the impassive facade Damon had only just managed to reconstruct.

"Good..." Damon said, taking the flask and storing it for later. "Now, haven't you been wondering what led to that bloodbath you stumbled into?"

Stefan seemed to recollect himself somewhat at this reminder, and listened attentively as Damon recounted the previous night's events. As he spoke, Damon glanced surreptitiously at Elena, but she didn't chime in or, really, show any interest at all. She wasn't even looking at them—just stared at the floor, her countenance hard and impassive.

When Elena Gilbert didn't have anything to say, _that_ was when Damon got worried.

"I know you'll find them, whoever did this," Stefan said tiredly as soon as Damon finished. He held his hand out for the flask, which Damon provided with a raised eyebrow. "But I can't come with you," he added quietly.

"I concur on both counts," Damon replied tentatively. "Though the last time you tried to rehab cold turkey on your own, things didn't work out so swimmingly."

"I know…" Stefan looked down, pausing to take another painful swig of the vervain-laced liquor. "Which is why I'm not going to quit cold turkey this time."

"You're going off the Bambi diet..?" Damon eyed his brother. He really wished Elena would speak up already. "I don't know if you recall the conversation we just had, _brother_, but I don't really have the time to wean you onto the human stuff at the moment."

Stefan still didn't look at him, but toyed with the ring on his finger. He was quiet for a moment before sliding the ring off and placing it carefully on the bench. "And you won't have to."

"Stefan…" Damon started, on the edge of losing his patience. He was saved the trouble of finding the right words, however, as Elena finally relinquished her spot against the wall.

Even as she came to stand right next to Damon, it was Elena that had Stefan's complete attention. She had Damon's too, for that matter.

"That wasn't the answer three years ago, and it isn't the answer now," she said softly, but firmly.

Stefan smiled bitterly. "It's not what you think," he spoke, not looking directly at either of them. "That pain is still there, over everything that's happened. Worse today… And the hunger. It _hurts_, all of it, and I always thought I couldn't do anything about it—at least, nothing I deserved to do, nothing I could do without losing everything…"

"So… what, then?" Damon crossed his arms. Maybe vervain-spiked alcohol wasn't such a great idea.

"Ever since the last time that I… that this happened," Stefan looked up at them seriously, "I've been doing some research. Actually, it was something Lexi was looking into," he added with a sharp glare at Damon.

"What kind of research?" Elena frowned.

"There have been stories of vampires who learned to master, to overcome the desire for blood—the _need_ for it…" Stefan answered solemnly.

"There's a reason they're called stories, Stef," Damon scoffed. "You can't just meditate your way out of your fundamental nature. Vampires and blood—I don't know if you noticed, but we sort of go together."

"Maybe not if we had help," Stefan said earnestly, and Damon could tell he really wanted to believe this. This _impossible_ thing…

"What sort of help?" Elena asked, brow still furrowed. Damon could tell that it was the first she had heard of this as well—but she wasn't so skeptical.

And _that_ could be dangerous, the both of them hoping for some futile outcome.

"I don't know," Stefan shrugged. "Maybe a spell, an herb…? I could never find out, but…" he paused to look at each of them in turn. "But I was hoping you might."

Damon's fingertips instinctively found his temple—he was going to have a headache, it was assured at this point. Elena let out a deep breath, looking deflated.

"And just what are _you_ going to do while we search for some fantastical cure for the fundamental curse of vampirism?" Damon asked, humoring his brother, at least.

"Hopefully not hurt anyone else," Stefan's jaw clenched. "Starve me out, lock me in the crypt, I don't care, just don't let me hurt anyone else…"

"I am _not_ putting you in the crypt," Damon balked incredulously.

"Why not?" Stefan countered. "I was going to do it to you."

Damon's nostrils flared but he moved past the reminder. "Besides, it would take time to deprive you to that point—time I certainly don't have if I'm going to leave tonight."

"Wait," Elena interrupted the increasingly heated exchange, turning to face Damon fully. "You're leaving tonight?"

"I've already wasted enough time—our uninvited guests could be anywhere by now," Damon answered, trying not to focus his annoyance on the primary reason for their head start—the reason sitting in this very room.

"What if they're still here in Mystic Falls?" Elena posited.

"Well, _obviously_ I'll look around town first, but they seemed fairly prepared to get what they wanted—and if they did, I'm sure they didn't feel the need to linger," Damon explained with mocking impatience.

"I'm coming with you," Elena said firmly, putting her hands on her hips.

"I wasn't planning on leaving you here unprotected," Damon allowed, meeting her stern gaze.

"If they were after my blood and didn't get it, at least we can lead them away from here—keep everyone safe," Elena went on as though she hadn't heard him.

"Elena, we agree," Damon smirked as she stopped to take a breath.

"Oh," she raised her chin. "You're not going to tell me I'd slow you down?"

"Well, you might," his smirk widened—he really did admire her considerable spunk. "And I'm not too keen on using you as bait, either, even if you're right about pulling their attention from town. But under the circumstances," he added with a glance back at Stefan, "I think the safest place for you, right now, is with me."

"He's right about that," Stefan interjected, a bit begrudgingly.

Elena's brow knitted anew as she turned back to her boyfriend. Damon could tell she was still struggling to sort out her thoughts.

To tell the truth, so was he.

"If we go through with this harebrained scheme of yours," Damon addressed his brother, "you're going to be way too vulnerable. Besides the fact that you're _overreacting_, there's absolutely no guarantee that we'd find anything useful, much less the mystical answers you're looking for."

"We'll figure something out for protection," Stefan replied. "And… I'm willing to wait."

"That doesn't change the fact that _we_ can't wait long enough for you turn all gray and pasty," Damon pressed.

"If we just gave it one more day, Alaric will be out of the hospital and he and Jenna…" Elena suggested.

"You're on board with this plan?" Damon turned on her. This was getting ridiculous.

"I don't know," Elena shrugged helplessly, her eyes pained. "If it's what he wants…" she gestured at Stefan. "I don't know what alternative we have at this point."

"Returning to the forest critters makes more sense than this," Damon argued.

"And who would help him?" Elena bit her lip. "Jeremy's gone, Bonnie doesn't live here anymore, Jenna and Alaric aren't supernaturally equipped… We seem to end up fighting most every other being that ends up here. We're running out of allies… Can't we at least look for this… this answer?"

Looking in her eyes, Damon knew he wouldn't be able to say no. And though this plan was giving him a distinctly uneasy feeling, they were running out of options—and _time_.

"If we can work out all of the kinks and holes in this cockamamie idea, then fine—maybe, _maybe_ I agree to do this your way," Damon looked between Stefan and Elena. "And that includes finding a way to keep Ric and Jenna safe from you while you're wasting away—the thirst for blood will make you do almost anything at that point, believe me," he added with a pointed look at Stefan.

"I have an idea for that," Elena put in quietly, earning a quizzical glance from both vampires.

"Thank you," Stefan said solemnly, "_both_ of you. I just… I don't want to hurt anyone else and I think… I think if I didn't _crave_ the blood so much…" he closed his eyes briefly, taking another sip from the flask. "I can deal with everything else—I _should_—but if I didn't have to worry about the blood, then maybe…"

For all his bluster, and as much as he knew how insane this was, Damon knew as he watched his brother struggle that he'd try… He'd try to do what Stefan was asking, because while Damon had chosen a much different path, he understood what it was like to be powerless in the face of some brutal, unshakeable force.

Although in his case, he'd never entirely been able to escape a destructive propensity for self-preservation… And bloodlust wasn't exactly a cakewalk either.

And of course, he hadn't found any shortcuts around that most cruel of mistresses; love had that maddeningly dichotomous ability to help and to harm—for Damon, it was too often the latter.

"I think I'll go back to the hospital," Elena broke the silence that had engulfed the small room. "Jenna is probably ready to throttle me for being so vague…" she added with a ghost of a smile, though it quickly slipped from her face.

"I'll meet you there," Damon assured her.

Elena nodded. She couldn't seem to bring herself to fully look at Stefan, and Damon wondered again what was going through her mind. With a deep sigh, she strode out of the room without a backwards glance.

Damon turned back to his brother, picking up Stefan's ring where it still lay on the cold bench.

"Is it going to hurt?" Stefan asked quietly, not looking at him.

"Yes," Damon answered honestly, remembering all too well the inhuman feeling of slowly starving with no hope of release.

Stefan nodded, forcing himself to take another swig of Damon's concoction.

"I can try to score some morphine at the hospital," Damon offered with a crooked grin. "If alcohol works on vampires, why not opiates?"

Stefan half-chuckled darkly. "I'm surprised you don't know from firsthand experience."

Damon leaned against the wall, watching Stefan carefully. "Why don't you finish that off—I diluted the vervain enough, but it should knock you out pretty soon," he indicated the flask still clutched in Stefan's fingers.

Stefan obediently took another drink, settling back against the rough stone wall.

Damon considered Stefan's heavy, pained expression, his memory once again transporting him back to a much earlier time.

"Do you remember when you had scarlet fever?" Damon surprised himself by asking.

Stefan opened his eyes, looking at Damon thoughtfully. "I was seven," he said, gaze losing focus with the recollection. "Mother was already… gone. And Father was on one of his famous, important business trips to Richmond. It was just you and me in the main house, aside from Netta and Giles…"

"I was certain you weren't going to make it," Damon added softly. Aside from losing the only important person left in his young life, Damon had been terrified of being abandoned, alone in that house with his father.

Stefan looked at him for a long moment. "Most everything is a haze, but I remember I wouldn't let you leave the room," he said, voice thick.

"And I didn't," Damon agreed, hesitantly sitting on the far end of the bench, holding Stefan's gaze.

If he was surprised, Stefan didn't show it, but Damon felt his eyes on him even after Damon turned away. Stefan drained the rest of the flask, placing it clumsily on the ground as he quickly faded into a fitful, agonized sleep.

Damon put his head in hands, clasping the bridge of this nose with steepled fingers.

The hospital could wait a few more minutes…

* * *

**A/N: Plenty more to come—but please let me know what you thought about this chapter… It's so helpful to know what, if anything, is working—and what is not… **

**The next chapter should have more of Elena's thoughts on the situation, if you have any opinions on that as well. So leave a review and I'll get to work!**


	8. Close Every Door But One

**Author's Note: Thanks again for all of the feedback—it's definitely an encouragement to keep working, and to keep improving. Sorry this took me a bit longer than usual to post… Aside from being frightfully busy, I honestly had a hard time sussing out exactly what to write. **

**This is at least partly one of those necessary chapters, so I hope you all are willing to stick with me at this pace… But especially after these last few (generally great but bittersweet) episodes, I had to include a little something at the end for Damon and Elena, at the very least… ;) **

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Eight: Close Every Door But One_**

* * *

By the time Damon arrived at the hospital, he was starting to feel more like himself. Or at least the version of himself that usually prevailed—and had generally served him well over the years, for better or worse.

He'd like to tell himself that he was suffering from lack of sleep and _hunger_, but that wouldn't be the whole truth.

And Damon was tired of lying to himself.

Elena and Stefan both had the aggravating ability to get to him like no one else, and sometimes he really resented them for it…

With Elena, it had always been different. There was no use denying it anymore, even if it would make his un-life easier. And after the night that they'd had… If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the warmth of her hand nestled in his own.

And Stefan… even after too many lifetimes spent heaping misery upon him—and enjoying a good bit of it—Damon would always try and save his brother's sorry ass.

It was getting to be a liability, really. A bad habit.

But it just wasn't in him to let go.

And so Damon found himself tied to this town, to more than a few of its inhabitants, to the protection of this life—such as it was.

Yet at the end of the day, he just felt foolish, because what was he to them?

So the wall went back up, because he was already leaning far enough over it to get clobbered. And vampire or not, that always hurt.

* * *

Damon pushed the door open, two pairs of eyes swiveling towards him immediately. Jenna's expression was worried, while Alaric looked vaguely miffed. Elena studiously examined the blanket at the foot of the bed where she leaned with her arms crossed, hands loosely gripping her jacket.

"Someone looks better," Damon offered with a smirk. "Deathly pale really doesn't suit you Ric—just in case you were considering a change of lifestyle."

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Ric asked, bypassing Damon's attempt to dispel the obvious tension in the room and gesturing at Elena.

Obviously, she'd managed to fill them in.

"Which part?" Damon quirked his eyebrow sarcastically.

"Any of it," Alaric countered with a tinge of incredulity.

"Good point," Damon said by way of an answer.

"Jenna and Alaric are going to stay at the Boarding House while we're gone," Elena broke in, a tight resolve in her countenance that Damon didn't buy for a second.

"You really shouldn't feel obligated," Damon offered. "My brother is being an idiot."

"We'll do it, Damon" Jenna said—and her resolve, Damon believed.

"I was thinking we could rig one of these IV bags with vervain on a slow drip to keep Stefan under… They can refill it if they need to, but he shouldn't wake up," Elena suggested, speaking a bit too fast as she looked thoughtfully at Alaric's hospital setup.

"Clever," Damon said appreciatively. He felt better knowing Jenna and Ric wouldn't have to approach Stefan with only a vervain dart as protection. "I think I might throw in a few good old fashioned shackles, thought, just to be safe."

Elena's mouth quirked uncomfortably. "So it's settled, then."

"Looks that way…" Alaric said darkly. "They say they'll let me out in the morning, can't believe how quickly I'm recovering."

"You're welcome," Damon quipped.

"I guess I'll go back to the house, pack some things so we can go straight to the Boarding House in the morning," Jenna said with a sigh.

"I'll come with you," Elena grabbed her jacket. "There are a few things I want to pick up, too."

"One of the guest rooms will be ready when you arrive tomorrow," Damon added with the affected air of a gracious host. "But first I think I'll poke around town, make sure there isn't anyone _unwanted_ sticking around…"

"And I'll just be here," Alaric put in sulkily, leaning back on his stiff pillows and crossing his arms across his hospital gown.

"Oh, don't pout," Jenna said teasingly, leaning over to give him a lingering kiss. "Keep feeling better, okay?" she added in a whisper. Alaric smiled as she grabbed her keys, shrugging her bag onto her shoulder. "Elena? You ready?"

Elena nodded and followed her aunt from the room.

Damon wasn't exactly encouraged by her diligent avoidance of meeting his eyes.

"Things aren't looking good, are they?" Alaric stopped Damon as he turned to follow the girls' from the room.

"No," Damon answered simply.

Alaric let out a bitter chuckle. "No one can say you don't sell it straight."

"Mysterious new enemies are after Elena with no regard for collateral damage, Jeremy's apparently lost all perspective, and Stefan is bringing the tortured martyr act to startling new heights while hoping for deliverance that doesn't exist. Plus I don't really have a plan that I even marginally like. So yea, things have looked better," Damon rattled off.

"Is that all?" Alaric asked with that maddening half-grin of his.

Damon just gave him a contemptuous glare.

"Just don't do anything too _you_ out there, alright?" Ric pressed.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" Damon smirked.

Alaric fixed him with his patented _stop-being-such-a-bastard_ glower. "It would be a shame if things got any worse, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, that's _definitely_ going to happen before we're done," Damon said, pulling the door open, wishing his words weren't the inevitable truth as he set out into the night.

* * *

"Lanie, kiddo, set to go?" Jenna poked her head into Elena's room.

Elena nodded, but she didn't really feel like moving. If she could just sit here, on her childhood bed with Mr. Teddy, then maybe she wouldn't have to force her mind to stop spinning.

If she didn't move, then maybe the world wouldn't move either—because she really couldn't handle any more drastic shifts.

"Hey... what's on your mind?" Jenna asked gently, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"What's not on my mind?" Elena countered miserably.

"You know, sometimes when everything goes to hell in a handbasket, it helps to know you have someone to lean on," Jenna said quietly. "And you might think you don't have that right now, but you do..."

Elena smiled sadly, twisting her hands together. "I think I have to forgive him," she finally said aloud.

"Stefan?" Jenna's brow furrowed. "Elena, you don't _have_ to do anything."

"How can I not?" Elena turned to her aunt, silently pleading with her to have all the answers. "He wasn't in his right mind—he never would have done that otherwise. And I've forgiven Damon for worse things, how can I not give Stefan the same chance?"

"Damon had to earn your trust back, didn't he?" Jenna pointed out.

"Yes..." Elena considered. "But I'm supposed to _love_ Stefan—I can't just turn my back on him when he needs someone—needs _me_."

"I don't think you are," Jenna reasoned. "Aren't you going after the people who attacked us? And looking for this thing, whatever it might be, to help him?"

"But before all this I was actually thinking of _ending_ things," Elena said guiltily. "And now... now he's hurting so much, how can I do that to him?"

Jenna quirked her mouth sadly, brushing Elena's hair behind her shoulder. "You can't control all the circumstances of your life, Lanie. But you don't have to make any decisions right now."

Elena knew that was true, but she didn't know how to leave town—how to leave him to literally waste away—with so much unspoken between them. That there were things to say even before any of this happened—that they had actually been growing apart—it pained her.

And still, there was the nagging feeling that she wasn't being totally honest with herself. She knew that after the events of the past day, her brain was trying to get her to admit something that her heart didn't want to see.

"I know he never would have wanted this to happen, that he's spent his entire life trying to prevent it, that it _kills_ him that that man is dead... But the fact that it did, that it _can_ happen—sometimes... _sometimes Stefan scares me_," Elena whispered the last words, feeling the air charge with her admission. "And it's ironic, because as impulsive and unpredictable and _infuriating_ as Damon can be, it's been years since he actually _scared_ me. But Stefan... I forget, or I push it aside, but it's always there, as long as he wants to live this way... And _I_ _want_ him to live that way—until it gets bad, and I remember, and I start doubting everything... Because there's always a chance, isn't there? There's always a chance that he could lose control. And I just keep thinking that maybe if I could help him, maybe if I had done something differently, or been there, or made the difference between—" Elena broke off as her voice cracked.

_"Stefan's _choices led him to this point, not yours," Jenna said firmly, though her eyes were wide. "And I can tell how much you've helped him, but some things just come down to him—and to decisions he made long before you were ever in the picture."

"I know, I just... how can I be thinking about giving up on him?" Elena whispered, feeling the tears spring to her eyes.

"Oh, kiddo..." Jenna pulled Elena into a tight hug. "You aren't giving up on him. You're just trying to see things clearly... Love makes that hard, sometimes."

Elena nodded into her aunt's shoulder. She couldn't think about how that love had changed... not yet. But she did care about him—even after everything he'd done, she knew he wanted to be good, that in his soul he _was _a good person.

And she couldn't help thinking that somehow, she was failing him, failing _them_.

She just didn't know what to do anymore.

"How about we stay here for a few more minutes, okay?" Jenna said quietly, pulling back to look in her niece's watery eyes.

"Thanks Aunt Jenna," Elena sighed, leaning against the older woman's shoulder.

They'd just sit for a few more minutes, and the world would stop spinning.

* * *

"I come bearing gifts..!" Damon called with mock cheer as he entered the basement, raising the empty IV bags he'd lifted from the hospital on the way home.

No sooner had Damon opened the door to the little cellar than Stefan had him in a choke-hold against the wall, fangs extended.

"Whoa, whoa, Stef," Damon coughed, easily plying Stefan's weakened fingers from his throat. "You're going to want to be on your best behavior before your babysitters arrive," he added with a smirk, muscling Stefan back into the corner.

Stefan's eyes cleared for a moment. "_Vervain_," he pleaded hoarsely.

"Ask and ye shall receive," Damon mocked, pulling a fresh syringe from his pocket and stabbing Stefan in the side. His brother slumped easily onto the waiting bench.

"Sorry..." Stefan mumbled as the veins retreated.

"A little on edge, are we?" Damon stood back, tension tightening his own muscles.

"It's so much harder this time," Stefan leaned back, eyes closed in pain. "I could _smell_ the blood on you."

"My apologies," Damon snarked. "I'll be sure to use mouthwash next time."

Damon wasn't sure whether to be more worried or irked that this actually drew a sarcastic chuckle out of Stefan.

"Don't mistake me for amused, Stefan," Damon snapped. "And don't think this little plan of yours makes you a hero."

"I don't think that," Stefan said seriously. "I know this doesn't make anything easier for you," he added slowly, "and I'm honestly sorry for that."

Damon crossed his arms, squinting at his brother pensively. Repentance and groveling—it was convincing. But Damon couldn't afford to get pulled in—he was finally starting to feel like he had control again and he wasn't going to let his little brother distract him. They didn't need that other version of Damon right now—that version just got people hurt, himself included.

"So Ric and Jenna have, for some reason, agreed to stay here with you," Damon plowed forward. "And Elena had a nifty little idea to rig up some vervain in these IV bags so you'll stay under and out of their hair."

"It's a good idea," Stefan agreed flatly.

"It is, isn't it?" Damon grinned wickedly. "Smart, that girlfriend of yours—really a keeper."

"I don't know if she's still mine to keep..." Stefan muttered sorrowfully.

"Hmmm..." Damon raised an eyebrow, not wanting to step into _that_ one right now, either. Better to just keep his mind as clear as possible...

As if that were going to happen.

"I know you're concerned about security," Stefan changed tack with a deep breath. "And I know you don't think this attack has anything to do with vampires, but I had a thought. Give Elena the house."

Damon stopped fiddling the IV bags to stare at his brother. He had to admit it was an elegant solution—a human hadn't controlled access to the Boarding House for some time, to everyone's detriment.

Why was it that _he_ couldn't come up with any of these plans? Why was it that he, Damon, couldn't manage a simple strategy?

Was he really so off his game?

"And I think _you'll_ have to give it to her," Stefan added with a significant look.

Was he really so preoccupied? So unfocused?

"Give who, what?" Elena asked uncertainly, cautiously standing in the cellar doorway.

And there she was…

Damon swallowed—she'd obviously been crying, her hair was in a disheveled ponytail, and her jeans were worn thin at the knees. And she still looked beautiful.

"Give you the house," he answered, clamping down on that constant wish—a wish usually relegated to the farthest corner of his heart—that is was within his power to give her more.

* * *

"Give me _this _house?" Elena asked incredulously. "Why?"

"Because you could dole out invitations that actually mean something," Damon responded glibly.

Elena felt her mouth round out into a perfect 'oh,' as she took in this new information. Even if it was only a formality, it felt exceedingly strange to be given a house, much less _this_ house. "And _you_ have to give it to me?" she questioned Damon. "Will that even work?"

"He's the eldest living Salvatore, such as it is," Stefan shrugged. "If anyone retains the power to pass along ownership, it's him."

Elena nodded, looking around at the walls as if they ought to look different now that they were about to be hers. "Is there a deed or something?"

"Probably somewhere," Damon waved her off. "But we don't have time to go about this with legalities. Zach's name is on those papers anyway… I'd say you're here often enough for the mumbo-jumbo to stick—you practically live here already, don't you?"

"I suppose so…" Elena said quietly, feeling a surge of guilt rush through the pit of her stomach, doubling in intensity as she caught Stefan's eye.

"Good, then it's settled," Damon said. "We probably ought to go outside for this…"

Elena nodded mutely, moving to help Damon pull Stefan onto his feet. The three of them shuffled along halfway down the hall before Damon grunted in frustration.

"This is ludicrous," he turned to them. "No one ever won a five-legged race. I'm just going to…" he gestured up the stairs, and Elena understood that it would be easier to let him speed Stefan up and out of the house.

Yet even after Stefan's weight had been shifted off her shoulders, she still felt it there, pressing down on her.

She climbed the stairs slowly, meeting Jenna and Alaric's confused looks as they brought their bags in from the car.

"Was that Damon and Stefan?" Alaric asked, perplexed.

"Yea," Elena could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. "They're giving me the house."

Ric and Jenna were quick on her heels as Elena followed the brothers' path out the front door.

"Ok, let's make this quick," Damon said as soon as Elena had stepped out of the house. He was still holding Stefan up—or maybe he was holding him to that spot—and was looking rather antsy about having his drugged-up brother out here in the open.

Not knowing what to do, Elena came to stand in front of them. She could hear Ric and Jenna whispering in the background, no doubt wondering what the hell was going on now.

"Elena Gilbert," Damon said seriously, taking hold of her shoulder with his free hand. "I, Damon Salvatore, rightful heir and proprietor of the Salvatore Boarding House, bequeath unto you said house for your sole ownership and discretion. Do you accept it?"

Elena swallowed hard under the intensity of his gaze. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more significant than a house being exchanged between them. "I do," she said, as firmly as she could manage.

"Brilliant," Damon said with mocking good spirits, jarring Elena out of whatever she had been feeling. "Let's see if it worked, shall we?"

"'_Bequeath_,' Damon? Seriously?" Alaric was chiding him as the two vampires cautiously approached the front door. "Is there some sort of vampiric handbook you get all this from?"

Damon just shot him a withering glare. "Ancient magical properties require precise and proper language, _teacher_," he bit out. Elena could see the trace of uncertainty flit across his face, though, as he tentatively put a toe up to the threshold. But it was as if a glass wall had erected itself in the doorframe, unwilling to budge. "Stefan, you try," Damon ordered.

Stefan held a hand out to the doorway, instantly pulling his fingers back as if shocked. He raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"Oh…" Alaric was saying as he walked through the doorway, Jenna behind him. He turned to look back at Damon and Stefan still waiting outside, understanding dawning on his features. "Good idea—I could get used to this," he added with a sly grin.

"Ric, be serious," Jenna swatted his arm.

Elena followed them inside, knowing that her part came next. "Damon, Stefan," she said with a deep breath, "come in."

She thought she caught a melancholy little smile twist Damon's features as he and Stefan stepped back inside, but his trademark smirk was back in place within seconds. "Right," Damon breathed. "Let's get you re-situated, little bro," he pulled Stefan forward and both were gone in a flash.

Elena stared after them for a moment before she felt Jenna's hand on her shoulder. "Go ahead, kiddo," she said encouragingly. "Ric and I will finish unpacking the car."

Elena nodded, and descended into the basement once more. She found Damon securing Stefan's shackles in silence. It was all very… surreal.

"Where do you want this," she asked, holding up an IV bag full of vervain.

"Just hang it up there," Damon pointed at a hook on the wall, taking the needle out of his pocket. Elena watched as he deftly inserted it into a vein in Stefan's hand.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked quietly.

Damon turned to her, an unreadable expression on his face. "I've made my way around modern medicine," he answered obliquely. Elena couldn't help but think of Stefan's own thwarted dreams of becoming a doctor.

"Ready?" Damon turned to Stefan, holding up the tubes that would connect Stefan to the vervain drip.

Stefan nodded resolutely as Damon began connecting the tubes and opening the ports. "Keep her _safe_, Damon," he said quietly.

Elena watched closely, but Damon only nodded imperceptibly, quirking his head to the side as he finished with the IV and stepped away.

Stefan lay back on the cold bench, turning his head towards her. She felt her chest constrict at the look in his eyes, and her feet carried her to his side as if of their own volition.

But her feet didn't have any answers for her once she got there. She felt so lost in that moment, so unsure of what to do.

Stefan took her hand in his, the pain in his eyes gripping her more strongly than his weakening grip ever could.

"I'm so sorry…" he intoned softly.

"I know," she whispered. She _did_ know that.

Stefan simply stared up at her, and she could tell the vervain was starting to work. Fading fast, he looked at her as though she were the only thing—the last thing—he wanted to remember.

Seeing his eyes start to droop, Elena bent down and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. Closure would have to wait, decisions would have to wait. Right now, this was all she could do…

* * *

"Are you sure this is all you need?" Alaric asked skeptically, closing Damon's trunk.

"Would you feel better if I said no?" Damon asked, cuffing the teacher on the shoulder—a gesture to which Alaric simply shook his head.

"Be _careful_," Jenna said, hugging Elena tight. "And try not to worry—everything will still be here to deal with when you get back. Just focus on what you have to do," she added in an undertone. Elena nodded, trying to smile reassuringly even as she caught Damon watching their exchange with guarded curiosity.

"I still don't like that we aren't going after Jeremy," Jenna added to the group at large.

"One thing at a time," Damon sighed, as if put upon. Elena was starting to wonder if the attitude wasn't entirely an act this time, though—there were cracks, even if she was the only one who could see them.

"I don't like it either Aunt Jenna," Elena said sincerely. "But he wanted space—and I'm finding I'm inclined to give it to him after what he did. We should know by now we can't force Jer to do anything."

Jenna nodded, but Elena could tell that her aunt didn't care for that line of reasoning any more than she did. A large part of her still wanted to track Jeremy down and _make_ him listen to her, but Elena had to focus on what might actually work… And right now, that was going after the people that nearly killed them—that wanted _her blood_.

"You're sure you guys don't mind… _house-sitting_?" Damon asked pointedly.

"We're sure," Alaric responded, jaw set.

"_Thank you_," Elena reached up to give him a hug. Pulling back, she slipped her father's ring off of her thumb and held it out in her open palm. "I should have given this to you a long time ago," she said, silently imploring him to take it, "I don't need it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Elena," Alaric shook his head. "If anything, you need it more than I do."

"Please," Elena asked again. "I practically have my own live-in bodyguards," she tried for levity, not risking a glance at Damon. "Honestly, I… I can't tell you how appreciative I am that you gave yours to Jenna—but you really shouldn't be without one. Especially now."

"I don't know, Elena…" Alaric frowned. "That's an awfully big risk for you to take."

"_Please_," Elena said again, holding out the ring. She couldn't voice how worried she'd been when he almost died, how much it would have destroyed Jenna to go through a loss like that again. How much _she_ would have lost, herself. It seemed that father figures were fleeting in her life, and Elena couldn't _not_ do everything in her power to protect the people she cared about.

Alaric hesitated a moment longer, before resignedly taking the ring from her outstretched hand. "Thank you," he said quietly, stepping back and taking Jenna's hand. "Keep us updated," he said, louder, as Damon and Elena climbed into the old blue Chevy.

"Will do," Damon called as he shut his door. Elena turned to wave once more as they set off down the drive.

Settling into her seat, Elena tried to take a deep breath and put everything behind her—focus on the task at hand. She wasn't finding it so easy…

Looking over to her companion on this wild goose-chase, Elena could tell by the number of times Damon had already checked the rearview mirror that he wasn't dealing with all of this much better than she was…

She almost blushed when he caught her watching him, and the corner of his mouth tipped upward in a lopsided grin. He chuckled darkly as the half-smile twisted into a worried frown. "I have a _bad_ feeling about this," he muttered sardonically, eyes seeming to stare far beyond the road before them.

Elena followed his gaze, wishing she could ask him to tell her that everything would be okay, that there was nothing to be so anxious about.

But Elena knew Damon wasn't the person to turn to for empty platitudes.

Still, Jenna hadn't been entirely right earlier—Elena knew she had someone to lean on… It just wasn't whom she'd ever expected.

And, she thought, maybe it wasn't fair for her to expect him to always be there to hold her up—but maybe if she could return the favor, sometimes…

So Elena reached out her hand, placing it over Damon's where it rested lightly on the gearshift. They kept watching the road, but Elena felt the pressure in her chest lessen as his fingers laced through her own.

So it was that they drove out of Mystic Falls, hands curled around each other's, holding on as tight as they dared.

* * *

**A/N: Well I hope that was a least a little bit worth the wait—at least it was a long chapter..? I'll try to be quicker on the next one, but in the meantime, go ahead and click that review button. You know you want to…!**


	9. A Start

**Author's Note: I can't believe you guys have surpassed 100 reviews with this story—seriously, all of the support really means a lot and definitely keeps me going.**

**Apologies for the slightly longer than normal delay between chapters, once again. I'm not sure if this will make up for it, but I tried… :) Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Nine: A Start_**

* * *

"I think it's just up here on the left…" Elena said, checking the street sign against the GPS on her phone as Damon pulled slowly around the corner. They had decided to visit Bonnie first, seeing as she—and her Grimoire—were their closest resource.

Elena felt a nervous energy bubbling inside her, more than a little tinged by guilt. She hadn't spoken with Bonnie in several weeks, hadn't even been to the new apartment she was currently navigating towards… On top of her already considerable anxiety over the past few days' affairs, Elena's stomach was now firmly tied up in a million little French knots.

"_Relax_," Damon intoned from the driver's seat, his eyes never leaving their inspection of mailbox numbers as he searched for their destination. Elena stared for a moment, always taken off guard when he did that, just _knew_ her through and through, without even seeming to try.

Damon smirked devilishly as he came to a stop, turning to look her in the eye. "Your heartbeat gives you away every time," he said, brushing a finger lightly above her collarbone. "Among other things…"

Elena did her best not to let her heart rate speed even faster at the touch, and the brief, but potent look in his eyes as he climbed out of the car. With an attempt at a steadying breath, she followed him up the front walk. She took a step ahead of him, rapping her knuckles against the blue painted door with as much authority as she could muster.

"Coming!" a voice issued from inside, followed by a hasty patter of feet and the click of a turned lock. "Oh!" the voice turned out to belong to a petite young woman with bronzed skin, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the two people standing on her stoop.

"Hi, I'm—" Elena began uncertainly, knowing this must be Bonnie's new roommate and knowing she looked awfully familiar…

"Elena, I remember," the girl said with a vaguely Hispanic accent, flashing a keen smile. "I'm Rosa," she gestured to herself, "we met at Bonnie's birthday party last year."

"Oh, of course," Elena returned the smile, feeling foolish. "We're actually looking for Bonnie, is she home?"

"No," Rosa said brightly, "but she just ran out for a minute. Matt forgot his practice jersey here, so she went to bring it to him. You know how football coaches can be—no room for excuses."

"Okay, well… we'll just wait in the car then," Elena said, hating how off-balance she felt. It seemed an inauspicious beginning, at the very least…

"Don't be silly," Rosa stepped back from the door. "Come in," she turned to Damon, "both of you—please, come in."

"Damon." Elena saw him extended his hand to Rosa by way of introduction, coupled with his most ingratiating smile, as he crossed the threshold.

"Nice to meet you," Rosa practically giggled. "Listen, I was just on my way out—but Bonnie really should be back soon. Make yourselves at home!"

And with that, Elena and Damon were left in an unfamiliar living room.

"Well she was bubbly," Damon said dryly, examining the bank of pictures along the mantelpiece.

"Yea…" Elena said, setting her bag down absently as her eyes took in the room. It bore the unmistakable touches of her old friend, but they were mixed here and there with something else she no longer recognized…

"So I take it our little witch and Donovan are still going strong?" Damon asked mockingly, holding a frame aloft. It was a grouping of images taken in one of those cheesy instant photo booths. Elena had to admit that Bonnie and Matt looked almost deliriously happy—an expression that hadn't always come so easily to her friends in recent years.

Elena's eyes drifted from the image of romantic bliss to a cluster of pictures she recognized—Bonnie and her grandmother, Bonnie and Elena in their childhood ballet recital… Bonnie, Elena, and Caroline on their first day of high school.

She felt a fresh pang rend her heartstrings as she picked up the photograph. They all looked so young and innocent, hopeful smiles plastered across their faces and hiding their nerves. Elena felt Damon lean over her shoulder to see what she was looking at, and immediately felt him stiffen and turn away.

Elena knew he and Stefan had both blamed themselves for Caroline's death. After seeing how hard it was for Damon to explain to Liz Forbes his inability to save her daughter, Elena suspected it was even more painful for him than she ever would have expected.

There had been so many things coming at them—at _her_—back then, Elena hadn't even allowed herself to process the loss until months later. Though she did remember thinking how easily Stefan or Damon might have fallen alongside Caroline that night. A werewolf bite didn't discriminate in its lethality when it came to vampires, after all…

But Bonnie and Matt… even as Caroline's death nearly destroyed them both, it brought them closer together. By the time Bonnie had enrolled at the University of Virginia and Matt had earned a football scholarship, the cards were good and dealt.

It was strange, on some level, but Elena felt genuinely happy for them. Placing the picture back on the mantle and looking anew at the four little photo booth images, she even felt a twist of envy. When was the last time she and Stefan had smiled like that? Been so caught in the moment that they transcended anyone else's cynical judgment?

"What kind of college student doesn't have any liquor?" Damon's voice startled Elena out of her reverie. But before she could respond, a key was rattling in the door.

"Elena!" Bonnie exclaimed, startled as she looked up from her bag. "What are you doing here?" She seemed to recollect herself and dropped her things, giving Elena a tight hug. It almost felt like normal… almost. "I heard what happened at the Grill," Bonnie said, searching Elena's face as she pulled back. "Is everyone okay?"

"No, not really…" Elena answered truthfully, feeling some of the emotional distance between them ease. "I'm sorry, I probably should have called first, but we were hoping—"

"We?" Bonnie interjected, eyebrow raised.

"Hello, Bonnie," Damon drawled as he wandered out of the kitchen.

Bonnie's jaw set into a steely façade. "_Damon_."

* * *

"Maybe if you could tell me what you were looking for," Bonnie said irritably, swatting Damon's hand away from the yellowing pages.

"I'm sure if I knew I would have mentioned it by now," Damon responded in kind, his mouth even with her ear as he loomed over her shoulder. It was always a battle of wills with a witch, and testing Bonnie's limits on the invasion of her personal space was one of Damon's favorite ways to push back at her. Even if they'd maintained something of a begrudging respect—if not entirely of each other, than at least of their respective abilities and overlapping loyalties—she would never completely trust or forgive him.

Damon figured he had nearly as much reason to do the same. The difference was that, on some level, he could enjoy the game. Bonnie just bristled.

"Well I've told you, Emily tried several times to curb a vampire's desire for human blood. She felt certain that it couldn't be done… and frankly, so do I," Bonnie said with a long look at Elena.

Damon glanced in he other girl's direction, at the end of the table where she sat nursing a cup of tea. Once she'd caught Bonnie up on what had happened and what they planned to do, Elena had been strangely quiet…

"And you're sure there's nothing about sorcery in here either?" Damon pressed, recognizing the conflicted look in Elena's eyes and saving her from the need to respond to Bonnie's assertions.

"I have studied this book cover to cover on more than one occasion, Damon," Bonnie said tiredly. "There's nothing in here about sorcerers," she went on adamantly, though she kept turning the pages. "And I don't know of any in the Bennet line either."

"Well you're right about that, as far as I know," Damon retreated to the stiff back of his own chair.

He looked up to find Bonnie watching him curiously. "You don't still do that… do you?" she asked, brow furrowed. "Watch over my family?"

"No," Damon said curtly. "Not anymore."

Now Elena was eyeing him as well, though her expression was infinitely more open than Bonnie's.

"But you did?" Bonnie went on. "You kept your promise to Emily all those years?"

Damon mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Yes," he answered quietly. Not that it did him much good in the end, but he had made sure the Bennet line persevered. "More than you'd probably think."

"I wish I knew what you know…" Bonnie sighed with a note of unvarnished honesty, looking back at the Grimoire spread out before her. For perhaps the first time, Damon recognized the lost little girl in Bonnie that was struggling to figure out how to be what she was destined for all on her own.

She'd probably never believe him—even he was surprised to find himself realizing the truth of it—but Damon was sorry for the part he'd played in that loneliness. After all, he knew all too well how it felt.

"You come from a long line of powerful women," Damon decided to reward Bonnie's candor before he thought better of it. "They didn't need me too often."

Damon allowed Bonnie to search his face for a moment before turning back to the book, her expression nearly inscrutable.

Damon tended to read people instinctively. Granted, he wasn't always right—dangerously wrong, even, on occasion. Yet most of the time he could get to the quick of a person with little trouble, sometimes to a level they weren't even aware of themselves, or that he couldn't quite explain. It was a habit that sometimes got him into trouble.

His uncertainty when it came to Bonnie Bennet, however, was troubling—and frustrating. He'd fought his intuition about her on several occasions, when it just didn't match up to the tangible evidence. Perhaps it was her supernaturally enhanced ability to read people in her own way.

But he did know that she liked control—that she hadn't been keen on finding him already in her house, mostly because she'd been denied the right to invite him in or keep him out—that if she was going to compromise her beliefs far enough to coexist with and even help him, it was going to have to be on her own terms.

Elena's presence would only go so far with Bonnie.

Still, the nod of encouragement and flash of gratitude he received from Elena for his overtures to her friend was push enough to keep going.

"Isn't there _anything_ in there, anything Emily mentions that sounds like especially dark magic?" Damon asked carefully.

Bonnie shook her head slowly, biting her lip. Suddenly her head snapped up as she looked at him, surprised. "Actually," she began, "I don't know if it's related, but Emily does mention someone… she calls him the Herbalist, in San Francisco…" she flipped to the an earlier page. "I'd forgotten about it, but… I don't know, the references to him always struck me strangely, like there were something Emily was afraid to say."

Damon could have kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. "His name is Hu Yin," he said slowly, standing and pacing across the small room. "Pearl was his apprentice—almost four hundred years ago, now, in China. And she taught Emily a good deal of what she knew about magical herbs and potions…"

"But it always sounded like Emily had met him, too," Bonnie frowned. "If he was that old…"

"I'm sure she did meet him," Damon said darkly. "I have."

"Is he a vampire?" Elena asked, looking between them with confusion.

"No…" Damon said thoughtfully, stopping to lean heavily upon the table. "But he does travel in some dangerous circles. I should have thought of him before," he berated himself.

"I think Emily was scared of this guy," Bonnie said, actually sparing a look for Damon before turning to Elena. "Emily wasn't scared of much."

"We'll be careful," Elena said solemnly, placing her hand over Bonnie's with a reassurance that Damon noted didn't quite meet her eyes.

* * *

"Why so blue, Nancy Drew?" Damon teased gently as he and Elena made their way back to the car. "We have a lead—you were right to want to come here."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Elena's face at his transparent attempt at optimism. "I guess I'm just always a little sad after I see her," she shrugged.

Damon considered this, walking in silence for a few paces. "And why is that?" he asked, for once not feeling up to the task of guessing.

"We're just not as close as we used to be…" Elena sighed, looking straight ahead. "We took different paths, I guess, but I never imagined how far apart we'd grow."

Damon just nodded in mute understanding.

"At least it's not as bad as it could have been," Elena continued quietly, and Damon knew she was remembering how strained to the breaking their friendship had once become. "But whenever I see Bonnie, part of me just misses the best friend I used to have and wonders how things changed so much when I wasn't looking."

"I'm sorry you lost that," Damon said sincerely, stopping outside the car door as Elena walked around to the passenger side. She looked at him quizzically, a half smile growing on her lips.

"Bonnie will always be important to me," Elena said carefully, looking into his eyes across the hood of his car. "But whatever I lost with her I found again… I hope you know that," she added with a significant look, tilting her head forward ever so slightly.

"Does that mean we get to have pillow fights in our underwear?" Damon quipped, hiding as best he could how much her acknowledgement of the depth of their friendship meant to him.

Elena just rolled her eyes with a put-upon huff. "Don't be such an ass," she returned with a dry smile as she climbed into her seat.

Damon remained outside the car for a moment, staring down at the hard black canvas top, glad it couldn't show him his reflection. He was sure the genuine, unbridled smile stretching across his face didn't suit him at all.

* * *

**A/N: Hope that wasn't too dull… Leave a review and let me know what you thought!**


	10. Past, Present, Future Tense

**Author's Note: So very sorry for the delay, everyone—things have been absolutely mad on my end. Still are, as a matter of fact, but I wanted to at least update a bit. (And I will include a small recap of sorts at the start of the chapter to refresh your memories.) This isn't the most overtly action-packed, but I hope you'll agree it contains some good Damon/Elena moments…**

**Also, some of you have been asking about the issue of the three years between where we actually are on the show and this story… I do have some conception of what has transpired, but I'd rather not lay it out explicitly. For one, all that exposition is bound to boring; for another, I'd rather reveal things as they are important to the characters. Also, though this story has to be somewhat AU by necessity, but I'd like to stay as responsive to the show as possible, and pull in things we learn about the characters, etc. A lot can happen in three years, so much of this story still sot of fits, potentially… Hopefully it will all make sense, but I trust you all will let me know if something isn't working!**

**One last thing—believe me, I hated killing Caroline off retroactively like that (especially now that she's turned out to be such a badass—much more interesting as a vampire, isn't she?), but it was something I'd already planned to do… Alas and alack! Now enough of me talking—on with it!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Ten: Past, Present, Future Tense _**

* * *

_Previously on… Elena is beginning to acknowledge the growing rift in her relationship with Stefan, but is forced to table her worries when there is a brutal attack at Jenna and Alaric's engagement party. The bloody aftermath pushes Stefan over the edge, and his bloodlust leads to the death of an innocent human. Distraught, he convinces Damon and Elena to starve him out, hoping they'll find a mystical aid he's heard rumors of—one that helps a vampire ignore the lure of human blood. Of course, Damon and Elena—whose relationship has managed to grow stronger over the years—have other things on their mind. The attack perpetrated by werewolves at the bidding of some other mysterious entity (Damon suspects sorcerers) nearly killed Alaric and came after Elena. Jeremy—who helped the attackers on the promise of getting Anna back—reveals it is Elena's blood that they wanted. Feeling guilty for his actions, Jeremy leaves town asking not to be followed. Damon and Elena, leaving Stefan with Alaric and Jenna, set out to find answers and lead any threats away from their loved ones. A trip to Bonnie reveals a possible link to an ancient Herbalist who once trained Pearl and currently lives in San Francisco…_

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* * *

_

Elena stirred slowly, wincing at the crick in her neck as she blearily took in her surroundings. It was a moment before she could remember why she was in Damon's car, traveling along an empty stretch of highway. The weight of the last few days seemed to crash down on her chest with added emphasis after that brief respite of forgetful ignorance.

"Sleeping Beauty awakens…" Damon chided softly from the driver's seat.

"I haven't exactly gotten much sleep lately, you know," Elena shot him a withering glare. "How long was I out for?"

"Not long…" Damon answered as the trees on either side of the road thinned to reveal a huge watery expanse illuminated by the last few rays of sunshine. As they drove over the still, tranquil lake, Elena noticed the tension in Damon's shoulders ease slightly—it was something, she realized, that she'd observed before.

"You really like the water, don't you?" she asked.

Damon looked at her quizzically before turning back to the road. "Mmhmmm…"

"Why is that?" Elena knew she was pushing, but she was curious. And she knew he wouldn't answer if he didn't want to—but he didn't deny her too often, not anymore.

"The river and the falls back… back home were one of the only places I didn't feel so restless, growing up…" he responded slowly.

"Really? I was always kind of scared of the rapids when I was a kid," Elena looked out the window, trying to repress the more recent, still potent fear of deep, dark water that stemmed from that tragic night on Wickery Bridge.

"It's a powerful force," Damon conceded with a sideways glance. "Mother always said I was drawn to the water because I was born on it."

"I never knew that," Elena's brow knitted, intrigued.

"Well I don't tell you everything," Damon retorted playfully. Elena let out a good-natured huff as he smirked. "My grandfather sent Father back to the home country to find a bride, and once he did he didn't think he should have to wait. They were hastily married and my mother was already pregnant by the time they'd set sail for America. Father was determined that I'd be born in his _precious_ Virginia… I guess that was the first time I disappointed him."

As Damon's features tightened slightly, Elena bit her lip at the pang in her heart. "How did your mother manage it?" she tried to steer him away from that particular wound.

"There was an old Italian midwife traveling with her—full of omens about babies born at sea."

"Like what?" Elena asked.

"Let's just say the nicest thing she predicted was that my eyes would be blue," he turned to fix her with one of his patented gazes, an eyebrow shifting darkly.

"I'd always wondered where those came from," Elena teased with a smile, turning back to the road in time to see a 'Welcome to North Carolina' sign. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"I called Alaric while you were asleep—I thought Isobel's old research might be worth a visit," Damon answered carefully. "Thankfully that annoying research assistant has already graduated…"

"Vanessa?" Elena momentarily sidestepped the other loaded topics in this plan. "She wasn't so bad."

"Speak for yourself," Damon grimaced.

"Did he say anything else…? Alaric?" Elena studiously avoided Damon's eyes—she couldn't _not_ ask, but she hoped he wouldn't make her fully confront the subject out loud.

"He's doing fine, Elena," Damon answered softly. "As well as can be expected, anyway."

"What does that mean?" Elena asked sharply.

Damon sighed. "It means he did wake up once but they took care of it—your vervain IV drip seems to be working."

Elena ran a hand through her hair, trying not to think about Stefan locked up in that cellar, wasting away. What a mess they'd made…

And now, and _now_… She felt her throat tighten; they were going to poke around her birthmother's old things.

"I hate going to that office," she muttered without thinking, chewing at the inside of her lip. "I hate that it makes me want to know her—Isobel—know the woman who worked at that desk, the one that existed before she…"

"Became a vampire?" Damon finished unnecessarily. "We're not all bad, you know."

Elena shot him a look, because good vampires seemed to be few and far between in her experience. And _he_ was certainly no saint—but compared to Isobel, her own _mother_… well, at least Damon tried to be there for her now. "_She's_ that bad," Elena shook her head. "But the more time passes, the easier it gets to forget that and wonder…"

"She left you, she sucks," Damon deadpanned.

"Yes, you've said that before," Elena responded dryly.

"She's not worth the wondering," Damon went on, a bit more gently.

"I know. I _know _that…" Elena bit out, though she wasn't really mad at _him_. "But I still have so many questions…"

"You had sixteen years with a mother who _never_ wanted to leave you," Damon intoned seriously, eyes fixed carefully on the road ahead. "I know it's not enough, but it's what you need to hold onto."

Elena leaned back in her seat, exhaling forcefully. It was true, what he said, but when she felt the walls closing in was when she missed her mother—her only _real_ mother—most. Elena supposed that pain would never entirely ease… She turned to take in Damon's carefully flat expression, realizing almost too late the import of his words. "How old were you when your mother died..?" she asked softly.

"Nine, maybe ten," Damon shrugged, as though he didn't know his age to the day.

"That must have been hard on you," Elena offered, wondering how far he would let this conversation go. "I know you were close."

Damon let out a low, bitter chuckle. "It wasn't allowed to be hard for me, because it was hard for _Father_."

"That's terrible…" Elena looked away. "Stefan never talks about it, you know" she added, wondering what she would have done if she and Jeremy had been much younger when their parents died.

"He was too young to remember much," Damon explained, his voice barely registering. "Father took her death out on both of us, resented us for living when she was dead."

"Damon, I'm sure he—" Elena interjected, horrified.

"You didn't know him, Elena," Damon cut her off. "But I'd promised her I would take care of Stefan," Damon's mouth twisted. "Which has just worked out swimmingly…"

"Maybe not as bad as you think," Elena offered, remembering all the times Damon had, indeed, been there for his brother despite their many differences.

Damon raised an eyebrow at her but went on, "The only thing I could think to do at the time was make sure Father took his anger out on me instead of Stefan… which was practically a cakewalk, considering he and I never exactly saw eye to eye. And it didn't hurt that I looked just like her… _Acted_ just like her, good and bad. In the end it was easy to push Stefan towards being the favored son he was always meant to be."

Elena had always suspected that Damon's childhood had left more than a few emotional scars that had—for better or worse—had a hand in making him who he was. Yet with the scant information she'd gleaned over the years she'd never quite suspected _that_.

"Damon, I…" she didn't know what to say. "I'm so…"

"I don't want your pity," Damon practically snapped, turning to face her just long enough for her to see the beginnings of regret in his features.

She wouldn't let him be sorry that he shared those memories, that past, with her. She _wouldn't_.

"Then you don't have my pity," she said fiercely, "you have something else."

It meant something to her that they could talk about this; it _meant_ something that he would let her try to understand him—_all_ of him.

Impulsively, she lifted herself up and across to brush a swift but gentle kiss to his cheek. It wasn't exactly a foreign gesture between them, but Elena couldn't help the warm blush that was creeping up her neck as she settled back into her seat.

She hesitantly turned to meet his gaze, afraid she'd done the entirely wrong thing. Yet as their eyes locked, she was relieved to see that those expressive blue depths, though turbulent, had a little less darkness brewing behind them.

* * *

"Well that was a waste," Elena muttered, frustrated, as they clambered down the Duke steps toward the car.

"Not entirely," Damon raised an eyebrow, matching her quick pace. "Just because you didn't get the answers you wanted doesn't mean you didn't get any answers."

"What makes you think you know what I want?" Elena queried imperiously as they climbed into the waiting vehicle.

Damon couldn't help but laugh—there might still be more than a few unspoken and obscured words between them, but their earlier conversation alone was proof enough that the level of understanding between them was higher than ever. That story was not one he had ever intended to share with anyone—but Elena had a way of coaxing his many walls down without even seeming to try.

"So you _don't_ want to find something to help Stefan?" Damon asked slyly.

Elena's mouth rounded into a perfect 'o.' "Of course not," she said, flustered and frowning, "I'd just like to find something more than myths and whispered rumors."

"All we're chasing here are myths and whispered rumors," he reminded her. The accounts that they'd found—one suggesting that werewolves had spread the false idea that vampires could curb their addiction to blood in a failed attempt to weaken their prey, the other referencing a desperate coven of witches promising equal strength on other substances in a last-ditch attempt to protect their beleaguered town—might not be conclusive, but they all pointed in one direction. "Vampires need blood, Elena—we _like_ it; you need to start accepting the possibility that that's all there is."

Elena huffed, slouching back into her seat. "I know…" she admitted, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry… I'm just tired and sick of hitting dead ends." She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her bag. "The possible rituals involving human blood doesn't exactly narrow things down, either," she muttered, glancing over the lengthy list they'd gathered from Isobel's books and records.

"Maybe, but only about half of those are employed by sorcerers," Damon amended. He wasn't exactly an optimistic person by nature, but only one of them could afford to wallow at a time. Apparently, right now, that was Elena.

Not that he could blame her…

"Yea," Elena narrowed her eyes, "are you ever going to tell me where this theory of yours comes from? What exactly _are_ sorcerers anyhow?"

"Seriously bad dudes," Damon offered succinctly.

Elena sighed, "_Damon_… Come on, how can I help without the full story?"

"If you wanted a supernatural anthropology lesson you should have asked the teacher," he smirked, glad to see her natural feistiness bubble to the surface at his evasive answers.

Elena swatted his arm lightly in annoyance. "I'm sure you'd much rather hear the sound of your own voice."

Damon wagged his eyebrows at her self-satisfied grin. "Fine," he acquiesced. "A line of sorcerers develops when a witch manages to pass her magic on to a male offspring."

"And that's rare?" Elena clarified.

"Exceedingly," Damon drawled. "It seems more likely to happen if the witch was using her magic for darker purposes," he added. "And maybe that's why sorcerers tend to be predisposed to some pretty heavy evil."

"Huh…" Elena mused, arms crossed. "Are there any sorcerers in Bonnie's family?"

"Not that I was ever aware of," Damon frowned, considering the possibility. "But maybe further back… they do have preternaturally long lives, and can spawn a line of their own."

"And what makes you think they have anything to do with this?" Elena asked.

"Gut feeling," Damon tilted his head.

"That's it?" Elena practically snorted.

"That and the fact that the ones I've come across really dig that black cloak look like the guy who attacked you at the Grill—and their bag of tricks could easily contain that handy little fire ring that popped up in the middle of the room. _And_," he added pointedly, "they do give off this pretty distinct _'double, double, toil and trouble'_ feeling, so yea, I'm following my instincts on this one."

"No…" Elena said slowly, shuddering slightly as her eyes seemed to unfocus on the memory of that night, "I get that…"

Damon glanced sideways at her; he could kick himself for making her think of the attack, but then again, shielding her from the truth was never a particularly good idea either…

"Well," she took a deep breath, sitting up straighter. "At least we still have a lead of sorts."

_There_ she is, Damon thought with a suppressed smile. Back to being the pessimistic ass for him—as it should be. "Exactly," he agreed, tossing her his phone. "GPS San Francisco from here, would you?"

Elena laughed disbelievingly. "We're _not_ driving all the way to San Francisco?"

"And you would suggest?" Damon quirked his jaw.

"Well, a plane, for starters," Elena faced him with a devilish smile. "I know you were around before they were invented, but I'm here to tell you they're rather fast and reliable."

"But roadtrips are so much more fun for us," Damon coaxed.

Elena quirked her head to the side. "Damon Salvatore," she grinned, "you wouldn't be afraid of flying, would you?"

Damon shot her a look. "Adrenaline junkie like me?" he scoffed. "Of course not. I'd love to see you in one of the original twin engine biplanes, though, and then get back to me."

"You _are_," Elena was practically gleeful. "You're scared."

"I am _not_ scared," Damon insisted. "Though I will remind you that plane crashes usually offer plenty of opportunity for death by fire or decapitation." He didn't have the heart to tell her that what made him nervous about getting on a plane right now was the lack of places to run or avoid detection if they were, indeed, being pursued by whatever had gone after her at the Grill.

"Then prove it," Elena raised her chin challengingly. "There's a major airport in Charlotte. Let's go."

Damon shot a long, unneeded breath out of his nose. "Alright then, you win," he allowed.

Elena smiled, obviously pleased with herself. She pried the phone from his grip and began typing in their destination. "Take the next right towards the interstate," she directed after a moment.

"Whatever you say, Miss Gilbert," Damon teased, pulling the car into the right-hand lane. As if he could really do anything else where she was concerned…

* * *

**A/N: Thoughts…? Keep in mind that we do have precedent for the two of them having more serious conversations about the past (_Blood Brothers _comes to mind), and I hope I've established the strength of their (albeit complicated) relationship by now—but as always, I try to keep the characters genuine, so if something doesn't ring true I'm sure you'll let me know. **

**And we are (slowly but surely) getting somewhere, I promise—but some of the fun is in the journey, right? ;) I'll try to get a new update out soon, but in the meantime, I am always thankful for those reviews!**


	11. OnceUponATimes

**Author's Note: Well that was a doozy of an episode this week, eh? (Understatement, I know, but I'm not sure how much I want to think about it…) I do love it when the show gives me more meat to work with on these characters, even if this story is on something a parallel universe trajectory. As always, I hope you enjoy!**

**(If you need a refresher, the synopsis at the start of the previous chapter still covers most everything.)**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Eleven: Once-Upon-a-Times _**

* * *

"You have _got_ to relax," Elena chided, bemused, as she settled into her window seat.

Damon looked at her askance. He couldn't help worrying that this airplane was the equivalent of backing them into a corner, should any unsavory characters still be after Elena. And he couldn't shake the feeling that they were being followed.

Years honing his instincts as a natural predator made it all the more obvious if the tables turned and he became the prey.

And he didn't like it.

"I'm going to tell you a story," Elena lifted her chin brightly, eyes alight.

"You do realize that I'm closer to nine _times _your age than nine _years old_, right?" Damon raised an eyebrow sarcastically.

"_Yes…_" Elena narrowed her gaze. "But if you don't scanning the area every five seconds and tensing your fingers until your knuckles go white you might have to drop me off at the next mental institution after I go over the edge. Besides, my Dad used to tell me stories whenever I was anxious—it's a highly useful tool of distraction."

"I don't need to be distracted, Elena," Damon said. In fact, he needed to stay on high alert—though he did make a conscious effort to hide the strain. It didn't help that even in the relative spaciousness of the first class tickets he'd sprung for, he had rarely felt more cramped.

Everything in him screamed that this was a potential recipe for disaster.

Elena snorted in disagreement. "Well, you can listen if you want," she watched him closely for a moment and then looked away, transported into a fond memory. "The first time I rode on a plane was just after my seventh birthday. My dad was going to a medical conference in Chicago and my mom was set to go with him, but the day before he left Jeremy came down with the chicken pox. Mom felt badly about the idea of shoving him off on Aunt Jenna, but the tickets were already bought so I got to take her place."

Out of his peripheral vision, Damon saw Elena pause to glance over at him, but he continued to watch the boarding passengers carefully.

"Anyway," Elena went on with a barely suppressed sigh, "I was way too excited to be nervous. But when we hit some pretty bad turbulence, I was determined to be brave and not cry like all of the other kids. I just kept chattering on to my dad, distracting him from his papers. But the whole time, I never let go of his hand."

Damon couldn't help but be drawn in by the image of a seven-year-old Elena holding onto her father's fingers with a plucky sense of courage.

He even felt some of the tension evaporate from the knot between his shoulders as the now twenty-year-old version of Elena sitting next to him placed her hand over his.

* * *

They were somewhere over Kansas when Damon was _sure_ he sensed a presence watching them, followed closely by the distinct feeling of someone speeding down the aisle. He stood quickly, startling Elena who had been watching the in-flight movie.

"Damon..?" she sat up straight, brown eyes widening in fear. "What—"

But Damon cut her off with a raised hand, straining his ears past the ubiquitous sounds of the engines for anything unusual. Thinking he heard a clatter in the back galley, he turned in time to see a shadowy figure ducking out of sight.

"_Stay here_," he said firmly to Elena, turning hurriedly to the elderly woman sitting across the aisle. "Would you sit with my friend for a minute?" he asked her with forced politeness, compelling the woman not to resist as he pulled her into his vacated seat. "She's afraid of flying and could really use a little reassurance."

"Damon, I—" Elena protested, straining to get up.

"Don't worry dear," the older woman tried to placate her sudden charge. "He'll be back soon."

It was good enough for Damon, who made a beeline for the back of the plane, slowing down as he approached the rear. He was almost certain whoever it was stood just behind that last bulkhead…

Taking a chance, Damon propelled himself around the corner, quickly pinning the dark-clad figure against the row of beverage carts.

"_Damon_, get _off _me!"

"Jeremy?" Damon loosened his grip slightly in surprise. "What are you—?"

"Gentlemen?" a flight attendant came around the corner, taking in the scene with obvious concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," Damon and Jeremy both answered tersely.

"Everything's fine…" she answered calmly, swaying a bit. Damon realized Jeremy must have had the same thought that he did, hitting her with an extra dose of compulsion.

Damon glared back at Jeremy. "Get in here," he said roughly, shoving him into an open lavatory and shutting the door behind them both.

"Dude," Jeremy backed as far as he could into the cramped space. "This is an invasion of my personal bubble, even for you."

"Have you been following us?" Damon bit out, ignoring—even relishing—the younger vampire's discomfort.

"Calm down, would you?" Jeremy tried to look unconcerned and failed miserably.

"_Answer me_," Damon demanded levelly, allowing his fangs to elongate ever so slightly. He couldn't believe Jeremy, of all people, had had him so on edge. That was, if he wasn't just being pulled away from a real threat…

"I didn't mean to be tracking you guys, not at first," Jeremy held up his hands. "But I saw you when you stopped to see Bonnie, and so I sort of followed you for awhile after that, yea…"

Damon's nostrils flared. "_Why?_"

"I wanted to know what was going on," Jeremy shrugged.

"I might not be keen on talking to you," Damon snarked, "but I'm sure Elena would have answered her phone."

Jeremy just shook his head, blanching at the idea. "Is she okay..?"

"What makes you think you even have the right to ask that, after what you did?" Damon spat.

Jeremy turned away, eyes downcast. "You're right, I don't."

"So what were you doing at Bonnie's place?" Damon pressed, arms crossed.

"I was there to see Matt," Jeremy sighed. "I've been looking for Tyler."

Damon's head jerked back involuntarily. "Why on Earth would you want to find that prick? Do I need to remind you what he did to Caroline? Or what he could easily to do you?"

"He didn't mean to kill her," Jeremy insisted quickly. "And since when do you care so much about Caroline?"

"Well she was a better vampire than you've ever been, for starters," Damon sneered. Of course, he knew deep down it was more than that—complicated history and impatient mistrust aside, he'd come to recognize a kindred spirit in Caroline.

And Damon knew he was indebted to her memory… Her death had saved his life—and his brother's—in the end.

"Screw you, man," Jeremy scoffed, pulling Damon out of his thoughts. "Tyler left town because he hated himself for what happened. You've done just as bad and never left."

Damon resisted the urge to punch one of the flimsy walls. Maybe he never left town, and maybe he should have, but Damon knew plenty about self-loathing.

"Why would you look for Lockwood now?" Damon asked, a hint of the exhaustion he felt seeping into his voice.

"There are so few werewolves around now, I thought he might know something about the ones that attacked at the Grill—and they might lead to whoever they were working for," Jeremy shrugged.

"Please don't tell me you're still after their ridiculous promise of bringing Anna back from the dead," Damon stepped forward threateningly.

"No," Jeremy insisted quickly. "_No_. I want to make things right. I… I let things go to far—I let _myself_ go to far."

"I suppose I've heard of stupider plans," Damon conceded sarcastically. In truth, Damon remembered how long it took him to acknowledge how far was _too_ far.

He still rarely let himself keep that oft-crossed line in mind…

"Please don't tell Elena I'm here, at least not until after we land," Jeremy pleaded as Damon relaxed slightly.

Damon raised an eyebrow. "And why would I do anything you want?"

"Because if she knows I'm here she'll try to reach out to me and I'm not ready to talk to her yet," Jeremy said simply. "And I don't think you want to cause her any more grief."

Damon considered the young Gilbert carefully. He might not like the idea of lying to Elena, but if this was how Jeremy was going to be then telling her now wouldn't change anything. "You'll have five minutes after we pull up to the gate."

"Thank you," Jeremy said sincerely, inclining his head.

"Don't thank me yet…" Damon muttered. He still didn't know what to think where Jeremy was concerned. Damon had committed more than his fair share of sins, but he had a hard time forgiving anyone who could betray their own family—much less put Elena in danger.

"I think Tyler is living outside of Portland—I'm going to look there first," Jeremy hesitated. "I'll let you know if I find anything."

Damon nodded and stepped aside, allowing Jeremy to slip out into the main cabin. He followed soon after, making his way back to his seat.

He found the elderly woman still blabbering on to an increasingly agitated Elena, who looked about ready to strangle him when he returned. "Thank you so much for your help, ma'am," Damon flashed a simpering smile, releasing the woman from her compulsion as he deposited her back in her proper seat.

"Not a problem, dear…" she said absently before turning, confused, back to her knitting.

"_Damon_," Elena whispered fiercely. "What the _hell_ was that about?"

"I thought I saw someone," Damon answered vaguely, regaining his seat.

"And did you?" Elena asked, a touch of fear softening her ire.

"Everything's fine," he said, trying for reassuring.

Elena narrowed her eyes, but dropped any further questions for the time being. "Don't _ever_ do that to me again," she said seriously, flopping back in her seat.

Damon considered her for a moment. "Wouldn't dream of it…" he offered, catching her eyes with his own. Her expression lost its hard edge, leaving only the anxious uncertainty behind.

They sat in silence for awhile as Elena looked out the window, lost in thought.

"Tell me a story?" she asked at last, still watching the world zoom by beneath them, her voice barely above a murmur.

Damon felt his chest constrict at the plaintive request, Elena looking—for just a moment—for all the world like a lost little girl.

"Sure," he answered softly, searching his memories for something suitable. "The first time _I_ was on an airplane…" he began at last, watching as Elena gradually lost the tension in her features the longer he spoke. By the time he'd finished, she'd settled her head against his shoulder—a contented expression on her face even as her eyes betrayed her continued unease.

Before he could think better of it, Damon wrapped an arm around her shoulders protectively. Elena nestled into him as if on instinct, stirring long-suppressed feelings deep within his heart.

It was amazing what you could get used to, given enough time and adequate motivation… And as much as it might hurt to love her with no hope of return, to see her with his brother, to never know the truth… the idea of not being around her hurt even more.

Damon was accustomed to not getting what really mattered to him—but with Elena, it was the first time he'd let himself stop fighting for it. Because if her happiness meant he had to give up on his own, then so be it.

But sometimes… sometimes…

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**A/N: At times I think this story is taking on a life of it's own..! I hope you're still enjoying the ride, even as I try to drive the car ;)**

**Don't make that review button feel unloved—give it a little tap!**


	12. Fear and Loathing

**Author's Note: So I owe you all another huge apology for the unexpected delay in updating. I've been visited by that dual threat of severe lack of time and a bit of writer's block. But I'm back now—can you forgive me? What if I bribe you with a new chapter..? ;)**

**(If you need a refresher, the 'previously on' section at the start of Chapter 10 covers just about everything.)**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Twelve: Fear and Loathing_**

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"I can't _believe_ you didn't tell me Jeremy was on the plane," Elena muttered for the umpteenth time as Damon pulled the car they'd rented into a back alley.

"Elena…" Damon turned to look at her with a barely restrained sigh. "He didn't want to see you, I made a judgment call."

Elena snorted and crossed her arms, obviously not impressed with his supposed judgment in the least. He couldn't exactly blame her—he'd expected it after all—but couldn't they just move on already?

"You know I don't like lying to you," Damon tried, a bit more sincerely.

Still not placated, Elena glared at him. "Then why did you?"

"Jeremy asked me to," Damon said simply—not that the decision had been so clear-cut. "He didn't want you to be hurt."

"You're more like Stefan than I thought," Elena shook her head. "I thought _you_ trusted me to make my own choices, to know my own mind and what's best for me."

He wouldn't admit it, but the comparison stung. Damon had always tried his damndest to give her that latitude, even as he made every effort to protect her. He and his brother might agree on keeping her safe, but he'd never been a fan of Stefan's tendency to coddle.

"I do," Damon answered at last. "I'm…" he wanted to argue, he wanted to explain that he'd been caught between them and that he didn't want to see her struggling to keep a brave face any more than she already was, but it wouldn't matter. "I'm sorry," he finished.

Elena nodded shortly, finally climbing out of the car. "Where exactly are we going..?" she asked, looking around.

Damon stood in the alleyway, looking out into the quickly darkening night. "The Herbalist's shop is just over there," he pointed.

Elena came to stand next to him, following his gesture. "Do you think he'll help us?"

Damon almost laughed out loud. "No," he answered honestly. "At least not without a little persuasion…"

Elena narrowed her eyes at him. "What aren't you telling me..?"

Damon smirked, quirking an eyebrow—she knew him too well. "When I met Hu Yin, I was still looking for a way to get Katherine out of the tomb," Damon felt his jaw tense, his eyes focused on the deceptively shabby storefront. "I'm _sure _he had some idea of how to help me, or at least knew people that would… but he was very… _cryptic_."

"Damon…" Elena looked up at him, obviously sensing where he was going.

"I may have threatened him," Damon admitted. "But I was much younger then—less… practiced," he skirted the edge of the truth, trusting Elena would follow the insinuation but not willing to be too specific about his past indiscretions. "He may not be a vampire but he was faster than me, or maybe he was just prepared… He'd injected me with some sort of potion—vervain soaked sawdust as best I could tell. Stung like hell."

"And… what?" Elena was watching him closely now, brow furrowed. "He just let you go?"

Damon shrugged. "He's a highest bidder sort of player, which seems to have earned him some dangerous friends," he explained. "But it wasn't _profitable_ for him to kill me… Looking back on it now, knowing Katherine wasn't anywhere _near_ that tomb, Hu Yin was probably answering to her. And she was always more interested in my suffering than my death…"

Elena bit her lip, turning back to the street thoughtfully. "So do you think he'd help Katherine, then?"

"No," Damon said flatly, following her train of thought. "_No_. I don't like it."

"You said yourself, he's probably not going to take a shine to _you_," Elena argued defiantly. "And we don't exactly have much to offer in the way of meaningful compensation. If he was once close with Katherine—followed her orders, even—why not take advantage of that?"

"Oh, I don't know Elena," Damon replied sarcastically. "How about that _Katherine_ is _dead_?"

"He might not know that," Elena reasoned. "And if he does, we lie—she's faked her death before."

"And how do you plan on passing for a vampire?" Damon crossed his arms. "You may have looked alike, but there are a few characteristics that are a dead giveaway," he tapped her chest lightly, indicating her distinctly beating heart.

"If he's not a vampire he can't hear my heartbeat—and the other things…" she looked away. "Maybe I can fool him into believing I'm her long enough to get by."

"No," Damon said again. "It's too dangerous."

"What happened to letting me make my own decisions?" Elena raised her chin. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"First of all," Damon ground his teeth together. "I may let you make your own decisions, but this involves me, too—and there's no rule that says I can't try to dissuade you from doing something stupid. Because, second of all," Damon stepped closer to her, "the worst that could happen is you getting yourself _killed_."

Elena didn't step back. "And where would be the profit in that for him?"

"Have you forgotten that there are people after you? That already attacked and very well _could_ have killed you? That may still want you dead? If he's working with them in _any_ way, you can bet they _are_ the highest bidders." Damon was standing inches away from her now; he could see the flash of fear in her eyes, but it was quickly covered over by a hardened resolve.

"We don't have many good options, here," she said quietly. "And I don't like the idea of our first move being you trying to force the truth out of him. It's worth a try…"

Sometimes, Damon wished he didn't admire her spunk as much as he did.

"Fine," he allowed at last. "But if things go south and I say jump you say 'how high?'—got it?"

Elena nodded, quickly turning on her heel to leave the seclusion of the alleyway.

"Hold on a second," he reached out to stop her, looking down at her worn jeans and hightops. "If you're going to pass for Katherine, you're going to need to look the part."

* * *

Damon watched as Elena self-consciously tugged at the hem of the short, tight skirt they'd purchased for her, dipping her ankle slightly in the uncomfortable stiletto boots. On any other day—any day that didn't have that dire tinge their lives so often had—Damon would have found her demeanor highly bemusing.

"Do you remember enough about Katherine to make this convincing?" Damon asked.

Elena straightened her shoulders, fixing him with a steely gaze. "How can you even ask that?"

Damon nodded, satisfied. He hadn't expected anything less—particularly since he knew Katherine still haunted Elena's nightmares from time to time…

Elena led the way around the corner, almost effortlessly turning on the powerful strut Katherine so commonly employed.

To Damon, it was infinitely more disturbing than Katherine's impersonations of Elena…

Following Elena as she pushed open the door to the dark and musky apothecary, Damon quickly took note of their surroundings. It didn't take him long to identify more than a few items that he didn't remember from before—most of which he recognized from the list of common sorcery materials covered in Isobel's research.

That didn't exactly bode well…

He steeled himself as Hu Yin emerged from the back room. He hardly looked more than a few years older than when Damon last saw him—barely a trace of the decades that had actually passed marred his features. There was a power there, despite the deep-set wrinkles and yellow-white hair. Damon could sense it.

"What's the matter, don't you recognize me?" Elena drawled with a smirk as she slinked forward a few steps.

"Katerina… I had heard you were dead," the Herbalist spoke at last in that precise, ancient, Chinese-infused accent of his, moving slowly to stand behind the front counter.

"Don't believe everything you hear," Elena countered, stalking slowly to the counter. Damon had to hand it to her; if he didn't know any better he might have been fooled by the act.

"And I see you have reacquired an old pet," Hu Yin intoned as Damon stepped out of the shadows. "Tell me, Mr. Salvatore, did you get everything you were hoping for?"

Damon bristled, but didn't rise to the bait.

"Damon is none of your concern," Elena interjected. "I'm looking for a sorcerer, and it seems you can help facilitate that for me," she leaned in, drawing a finger across the decorative fabric of the Herbalist's lapel.

Hu Yin paused for a moment, a strange look crossing his features. "For Katerina Petrova, almost anything… But you are _not_ Katerina."

Before Damon—much less Elena—had time to even process Hu Yin's words, the Herbalist had pulled a vial from his robes and blown a haze of blue powder in Elena's face. She crumpled so quickly that Damon almost failed to catch her before she crashed to the floor. Processing his options swiftly and remembering his past mistakes, Damon sped to pull Hu Yin across the counter into the middle of the room—away from any apparent assistance.

Feeling his anger and anxiety for Elena fuel his strength, Damon easily lifted Hu Yin off the ground by the back of the neck.

Maddeningly, the old man hardly looked perturbed.

"You should have removed her necklace," he advised mockingly. "Did you not think I would smell the vervain immediately? But not to worry, Damon," he went on calmly. "I would not kill her—a Doppelganger is very powerful in its own right… they remain very _interested_ in her…"

"I _know_," Damon bit out, bluffing—allowing his hearing to search out Elena's faint and erratic but nonetheless present heartbeat. "_So where can I find them?_" If the sorcerers were still after Elena as he'd suspected—he was damn sure going to get to them first.

"Now, now, patience is a virtue…" Hu Yin taunted. "One I fear you do not possess."

"Oh," Damon grinned wickedly. "I can be as patient as you like… In fact, we can draw this out as _long _as you wish…"

"Tell me," the Herbalist glanced over at Elena, "is there something that draws you to the Petrova women? It is a curious history… Do they each have your love, first? Must they all, one day, fall at your hand?"

"What are you talking about?" Damon tried to hide his confusion. Katherine was one thing, but he'd never managed to end Isobel—even if he may have wanted to—and had no interest in any other feelings for her… And the idea of killing Elena…

The fact that she still hadn't moved was killing _him_.

"Did you truly never recognize the resemblance?" Hu Yin went on. "The Petrova propensity for vampirism ought to be allusion enough…"

Damon wracked his memory, searching for whom the Herbalist might be referencing…

"Ah," Hu Yin smiled, "she must not have made a sufficient impression. Perhaps that is not surprising…"

All at once, it hit him. How had he missed it before? "Avalinda…"

"Very good," the Herbalist agreed sardonically. "I always knew you were smarter than your brother. Yet will you be smart enough to know when you have already lost?"

"Damon..?" Elena groaned from behind him. Damon could hear her struggling to get up, but his mind was already racing with Hu Yin's implications.

"What does Avalinda have to do with this?" he asked, tightening his grip on Hu Yin's neck.

"Everything…" the Herbalist smiled darkly.

If it could, Damon was sure his blood would have run cold at that single word. If this had something to do with Avalinda Kent—as _impossible_ as that should be…

This was not good.

"Damon… what are you doing…?" Elena asked groggily, though Damon hardly heard her.

Damon was struggling to put the pieces together, but he felt as though he were missing something just at the edge of his knowledge… Something _crucial_.

"Where can I find the sorcerers?" Damon demanded again, making sure the pressure he was exerting on Hu Yin's spine would be extremely painful—and wishing he had some more useful implements of persuasion.

"And what possible incentive could I have to reveal this information?"

Damn him for seeming so unfazed.

"How about I don't _kill_ you?" Damon suggested, feeling the veins surging at his eyes and his fangs itching instinctively.

"_Damon_," Elena inhaled sharply.

Hu Yin laughed lowly. "She does not have the stomach for it…"

"Tell me where they are," Damon repeated coldly, focused entirely on the task at hand. They might never get another chance to gain the advantage.

"I do not think you need worry about finding them—I am certain, now, that they will find you…"

Damon narrowed his eyes, lip curling. Hu Yin's meaning was not lost on Damon… he couldn't allow the Herbalist to warn their hunters, or tell them where Elena could be found.

Damon did not approve of liabilities—especially not where Elena was concerned.

Running out of options, Damon reached out with his free hand and systematically began breaking bones. He could feel the anxiety and revulsion rolling off of Elena in waves, but he couldn't allow himself to care what she thought of him or his tactics.

Her safety was paramount, and if he couldn't get Hu Yin to talk…

Damon felt the sinister satisfaction as he moved onto the small, sensitive breaks throughout the left hand and began to sense Hu Yin's resolve weakening.

Still, it was not until Damon had made his way through the rib cage and cracked the Herbalist's sternum that he gasped out, "There is an address… in the red box, behind the counter."

Damon saw Elena scurry to the indicated spot, quickly producing a yellowed piece of paper.

"Thank you…" Damon cocked his head sardonically. "Now what'll it be?" he pressed his hand to Hu Yin's chest. "Heart?" He placed his fist against the Herbalist's jaw. "Or head?"

Hu Yin said nothing but regarded him levelly even as his breathing was growing increasingly labored.

"Heart," Damon went on, "is a particular specialty of mine… But I'm not so sure you have one in there," his nostrils flared. "And the head has a certain poetic justice where you're concerned, don't you think?"

"Damon…" Elena said slowly. "Damon you don't have to—he just—"

Damon's eyes locked with Hu Yin's, the predator within him rising fully to the surface. "Head it is then…" he whispered menacingly, separating the Herbalist's body swiftly at the neck with one fell _snap_.

"_Damon!_" Elena cried out.

Damon was still holding the body when, within seconds of severance, both parts of the corpse suddenly disappeared in a cloud of smoldering white smoke. Damon recoiled slightly, startled. "Well… _that_ was new…"

"Damon," Elena spun him around angrily, "he gave us what you asked," she waved the piece of paper in his face, eyes wide. "There was no reason to _kill_ him."

He could see the horror etched into her face, but Damon couldn't help but be mystified by her logic. "No reason?" he asked incredulously. "_No reason?_ He attacked you and fully intended to turn you over to whoever is behind this if he could."

"You don't know that," Elena crossed her arms.

"Don't I? Elena, this is bigger than we thought… Trust me, he would have betrayed your whereabouts—this is _not_ a good guy we're talking about, here," Damon stepped towards her, feeling the intensity of his conviction burning the air between them.

Elena backed away, shaking her head. "That was _easy_ for you…" she fixed him with a penetrating gaze before glancing at the dissipating tendrils of smoke. "What kind of _guy_ does that make you?" she threw his words back at him, her eyes pained as she ran out of the shop and into the night.

Damon stared after her retreating form, feeling his own certainty ebb away in her wake.

Was it really so easy to make her afraid of him again..?

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**A/N: This is all starting to build to something in earnest, so I hope you're still enjoying—I think I may actually be able to update in the next couple of days… So you won't have to live with the slight cliffie for too long. And there's a scene in the next chapter I think (or hope) you'll all appreciate… ;) (And don't worry, the seeds planted here will be explained in due course.) **

**In the meantime, I'd love to hear what you're thinking!**


	13. Can't Turn Back Now

**Author's Note: Well would you look at that, a more or less timely update! I so appreciate everyone sticking with me on this story and hope this chapter will answer a few questions, and offer a satisfying moment or two… ;)**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Thirteen: Can't Turn Back Now_**

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Elena furiously, futilely tried to open the car door. She would rip it off its hinges if she could, just to close herself inside and not have to face what was surely coming next.

Because there he was…

_Damon._

He appeared in a blur, forcing her around to face him and pinning her to the side of the car with an arm extended each to her left and her right.

"You do _not_ get to run off like that," he spoke in almost a growl, inches from her face. Though his features were a cold mask to the untrained observer, she could see the turmoil and doubt lingering in his eyes. Elena knew she had hurt him with her accusations, but he was too proud to do anything more than lash out in kind.

"What is it they say? A riddle wrapped in an enigma, shrouded by mystery?" he went on in a low voice when she said nothing. "That might as well have been written for you. And I am _tired _of being patient and understanding and trying to figure you out," Damon inched impossibly closer, eyes piercing into her own. Elena felt herself swallow hard, even as she remained silent. "And _now_ you get off like you haven't seen me kill an enemy before—like even your _precious Stefan_ hasn't done the same right in front of you. Hell, Elena, you've gotten to be pretty handy with a stake yourself."

Elena lifted her chin, not ready to succumb to the pressure of her mounting confusion and uncertainty. "It's not every day I see someone get brutally tortured," she threw back at him.

Damon, of course, didn't back down. "How hard is it to understand that _he would have been the death of you_. That is not just a platitude, Elena, that is your _life_."

Unable to entirely deny that, Elena bit her lip, screwing up the courage to acknowledge what was really bothering her. In barely a whisper, "_did you enjoy it?_"

Damon recoiled as if she'd physically hit him, and for the briefest of moments she saw a new shade of emotion in his gaze that she could only describe as stricken.

But it was gone as soon as it had come, replaced by the unbreakable exterior.

"And what if I said yes?" Damon countered in a low voice.

Elena felt her heartbeat quicken, her stomach jump clear into her throat. "Damon…"

"Elena," Damon interrupted, the anger clear in his voice this time, "I am a _predator_, that is my basic, driving instinct. If you haven't figured out that on some level, _every_ vampire enjoys the kill, then you haven't been paying attention."

He leaned back against the brick wall of the alley, arms crossed, watching her. She knew he'd give her time to think, but she was finding it difficult to focus her thoughts. She had always known this, this fact of vampiric nature, but it still scared her. She had watched Stefan resist and struggle against it, repress it to such great and often disastrous lengths because he didn't think he could handle it… But with Damon, it was almost like watching two different people—that because he could control those impulses, that quality came in and out like a flipped breaker.

And yet Elena was scared to death that one day he wouldn't be able to keep those sides separate—that the tenuous barrier would crack ten times worse than it ever had before and it would be _her fault_.

"I…" she tried, taking a steadying breath. "I don't want you to kill because of _me_."

Damon stared at her incredulously. "What better reason is there?"

"I don't want you to have to access that part of yourself because of me," she clarified. "If you do, then…" she found herself stepping forward, searching his face. "What if you give in and go back to what you were before… and it was _because of me_?"

Damon's glare softened ever so slightly at her earnest plea. "That isn't going to happen," he said quietly.

"How can you be so sure?" Elena pressed.

"Don't you trust me anymore?" Damon cocked his head slightly, feigning indifference to her answer.

It was Elena's turn to recoil. "That's not what I meant," she said hastily. She _did_ trust him, she did… against all odds, he'd earned it. Repeatedly.

But that didn't mean Damon couldn't still be impulsive, couldn't still let himself get lost in the intensity he brought to nearly everything he did. It didn't mean that she liked seeing this side of him—she'd never relished bearing witness to that monster in any of them.

"Then trust me to know what's necessary," he challenged her. "I know you understand how serious our situation is right now and how quickly it could get even worse than it already is."

It was funny, being frankly realistic about her life was something Elena avoided more than she cared to admit. And yet somehow Damon always forced her to confront the hard choices.

This time, she couldn't look away any more…

"Okay, Elena… listen to me, because I am only going to say this once," Damon gently gripped her shoulders. "I spent far too long allowing myself to plunge deeper and deeper into an abyss I thought there was no way out of. And I didn't care because I made myself believe that I loved it there, that that was where I was _supposed_ to be. And then you came along and convinced me that there was some chance that I didn't belong there after all, that it wasn't a one-way ticket—and I have no interest in going back."

Elena nodded mutely, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his eyes.

"And what if doing all of this," Elena forced the words out, determined to voice the worry that still nagged at her. "What if these risks that you take get you killed?" Elena knew that if he kept doing these things for her it might well be the last thing he did.

And she'd never forgive herself for that, either.

"There is _nothing_ that will stop me from trying to protect you," Damon said with a quiet ferocity, his grip on her shoulders tightening.

Elena knew that he didn't care what happened to him—what he might become or what unfit end it might bring him. But she just couldn't live with that responsibility on her shoulders… "Damon…" she choked out past the growing lump in her throat, "I'm not worth that much."

He fixed her with an even stare, holding her gaze even as he dropped his hands to his sides. "You could not be more wrong."

The real problem, Elena realized, was that he didn't think he was worth that much either.

Elena smiled sadly, somehow feeling more centered than she had in quite awhile. She was still worried, still willing to argue a few finer points… But she also felt that they'd both been treading water ever since the attack, if not before.

And there was a little sliver of her that was starting to feel familiar again, that maybe she could catch her breath for just a _second_ before everything fell apart again.

Which was bound to be sooner than later.

"What do you say we go make a house call?" she straightened Hu Yin's paper between her fingers, smoothing out the crumples formed by being clenched in her fist.

Damon put his trademark smirk firmly in place, clearly more than willing to put an end to this conversation. He took the address from her outstretched hand, making his way around to the driver's seat and unlocking the car.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he pushed the passenger door open from the inside. "Get in."

* * *

The address had turned out to belong to an exclusive, underground club—an imposing bouncer the only indicator of the otherwise nondescript entrance.

Reasoning that if sorcerers controlled or even just frequented the locale there might be vervain in the water, so to speak, Damon had listened for the password from a darkened alcove. Even then, it had taken a little persuasion from Elena to convince the doorkeeper that as unfamiliar faces they were still welcome guests.

She could tell by the amused twinkle in Damon's eye that he'd enjoyed seeing her make good use of the low cut top and short skirt she was still sporting.

Elena never thought she'd be thankful for Katherine's choice in wardrobe…

At this point, though, they'd been sitting at a corner table for several hours without much luck. Damon had mostly been using his acute hearing to scour the dark and swanky locale while Elena watched and tried to casually elicit information from the bartender.

"Mmm…" Damon set his drink on the table with a slight grimace. "We have a problem."

Elena immediately sat up straighter, eyes darting around the room.

"The two big guys by the bar," Damon said quietly. "They're onto us—think we're suspicious just sitting here, barely talking. And the bartender just told the ugly one that you were asking questions."

Elena's eyes widened. "Umm, Damon…" she whispered urgently. "I think they're coming over here…"

Damon took another measured sip of his bourbon. "Just _don't panic_."

Only the problem was Elena felt just that sensation riddle through her. She looked around the room, searching for a way to avoid the confrontation. Yet all she saw were couples.

Although…

"Kiss me," she said suddenly, returning her gaze to Damon.

"What?" he very nearly sputtered.

"If they think we're just another pair of young lovebirds we'll throw them off," she muttered hurriedly. "They're going to be at our table any second, Damon…" she said, feeling the sense of alarm mounting. "Just do—"

Her last word was cut off as Damon leaned forward, pressing a chaste though somehow sensual kiss to the corner of her mouth, lingering slightly to catch her bottom lip between his own. Elena dimly registered the pleasant shiver that ran down her spine even as she saw over Damon's shoulder that the two thugs had hesitated. Still, they weren't appeased yet, and she didn't pull away…

Elena tilted her head towards Damon's, still hovering mere centimeters away. He captured her lips once more, still gentle but more purposeful this time. Elena felt her hand find the back of his neck as if on instinct, her fingers weaving into his hair. As his tongue skirted the length of her mouth and his own hands nestled perfectly at the small of her back, Elena began to lose awareness of anything else around her.

There were a million little fires burning on her skin, a tingling she could feel from her fingertips to her toes. Elena gave herself over to the unrestrained passion of it, not even sparing a thought as the kiss deepened and their bodies pressed ever closer together.

And then suddenly, the connection was lost. Elena felt a swift snap of mental and physical cold assault her senses as Damon pulled back, an unreadable expression on his face.

Elena tried to catch her breath, noting that their would-be antagonists had veered off their previous course. But Elena was no longer reeling in panic over some impending altercation. She looked away from those tumultuous, piercing blue eyes and into her half-empty martini glass, as if it could offer the answer to the question currently ransacking her mind.

Why had an admittedly successful ruse felt so damn real?

* * *

**A/N: A bit of a cliffie—sorry about that. And before any of you ask, I would almost never think it in character for Elena to purposefully betray Stefan… So that wasn't her intention here. But an innocent enough plan can have unintended consequences and unexpected effects… I think Elena just learned that the hard way.**

**Anyhow, I'll try to get a new update in the next several days again, but I don't want to promise anything… Until then, I'd love to know what you're thinking so please leave a review!**

**(And to those of you in the States, have a lovely Thanksgiving!)**


	14. Connecting the Dots

**Author's Note: Well I really had hoped to get this update to you sooner, but real life sadly intervened again. However, in honor of there actually being a new episode last night, I thought I would make the time to get this little chapter up… I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Fourteen: Connecting the Dots_**

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Damon couldn't stop looking at her.

And she—well _she_ was looking anywhere _but_ him. Those bright, doe eyes really were made for that deer in the headlights gaze.

He had actually managed to kiss her. Without her resisting, with it actually _being_ her—for _once_.

He had _kissed_ her.

_Elena_…

He hadn't meant it to go so far, but once he'd started…

Damon couldn't even bother to mentally berate himself for being so hopeless when it came to this girl.

Because he could still taste her on his lips, still feel the warmth of her body against his own…

He kept trying to remind himself that it was all a trick, a game—that she'd been _pretending_, that it would never be real with him. He was just projecting—a pathetic spillover effect of keeping his own feelings bottled up for so long.

He had _said_ he wouldn't be selfish with her, wouldn't do anything other than be there for her if ever he could—and damned if a trace of guilt wasn't worming it's way into this incoherent high, realizing that he'd let himself get carried away because it felt _too damn good_.

And now Elena wasn't looking at him and he could have ruined everything.

He saw her lips move before he actually registered her voice, becoming aware that that kiss had sent all of his other senses into a numb, buzzing tailspin.

"Damon…?" she said in an urgent undertone, eyebrows raised in a way that suggested she'd already said his name at least once.

Damon braced himself for the inevitable _we shouldn't have done that, please don't go there right now, I just don't think… Stefan…_

"Shouldn't we get out of here?" Elena leaned forward, eyes darting around the room.

He had to force himself not to sigh with relief. He'd never been more thankful for her frank avoidance and feigned ignorance of what stood right in front of her.

"Not yet," he answered. "We don't want to tip them off now…"

Elena nodded, eyes still slightly wide as she gulped down the rest of her drink.

Damon followed suit, relishing the feeling of the amber liquid burning its way down his throat, searing away the rush of feelings still weighing heavily in his chest.

That quickly fading elation, confusion, uncertainty, guilt…

Fear.

His attention was diverted by the flutter of a black velvet curtain in the far corner, covering the entrance to a corridor he'd noted more than a few unscrupulous characters slip through that night. No doubt they were there on the sorcerers' business. In fact, he was beginning to question the wisdom of walking straight into the lion's den, sitting at their table and drinking their liquor.

It wasn't as though they didn't know what they looked like…

A weasely voice was filtering from behind the curtain now, and Damon was able to catch _"…told me to collect him once everything was in place."_

_"He was getting anxious," _a man responded in low tones.

_"She will be back in his arms by moonrise tomorrow,"_ the weasely voice again, as two sets of footsteps faded out of range.

"Did you hear something?" Elena asked quietly, searching Damon's expression.

But Damon held up a finger in caution, his mind working furiously—something the men said had finally triggered that missing connection, that last link in the puzzle they'd been slowly uncovering.

Of course, it didn't make much more sense than the jumbled mess that had been sifting around in his brain.

Because this was _insane_.

"Okay, _now_ we go," Damon pushed his glass away, taking Elena's hand as he slid out from behind the table.

Elena was looking at him with confusion and worry. "What is it?"

"I need to see something from Isobel's records," he said through a false, indulgent smile, making sure they weren't attracting any attention. "We need to go back to the car—just… not too fast."

Elena swallowed and, to her credit, giggled as she pretended to stumble over him. He smiled down at her appreciatively as his arm wrapped around her waist to offer support she didn't really need.

Just another drunk couple leaving a bar.

Still, Damon's mind was miles away, trying to wrap his head around the idea that had taken hold there.

"_Insane…_" he muttered his earlier sentiment as they pushed out into the chill air and hurried discreetly to their car in the secluded lane around the corner.

As soon as they were safely inside, Elena rounded on him. "Damon, _what_ is going on?"

"Do you still have the list of sorcerer's rituals involving human blood?" he ignored her question—if this was meant to be over by moonrise tomorrow then they didn't have much time.

"Of course," she fished through her bag, handing over the research they'd gathered in Isobel's old office.

Damon scanned through them quickly until his eyes alighted on what he was looking for. He scanned the hastily scrawled paragraph twice, then a third time as he leaned back in his seat. With each passing minute he found the idea more and more incredible even as the dread certainty over what they were planning washed over him.

Elena leaned to read over his shoulder. "_How to resurrect a vampire,_" she recited from the top of the page. "You don't think—" she stopped herself, turning to Damon dubiously. "Is that even possible?"

"I've stopped arguing what's possible or impossible," Damon said dryly. "Whether it will actually work—which it _shouldn't_," he added, trying to maintain some kind of grip on reality. "This is what they're trying to do."

"How can you be so sure?" Elena's brow furrowed as she looked at their notes.

"It all fits," his jaw tensed. "The sorcerers, your blood, Avalinda, everything…"

"Who's Avalinda?" Elena looked back at him.

"A nasty piece of work," Damon gritted his teeth.

"Care to be more—" Elena cut herself off, peering through the windshield. "Damon… weren't those men in the club?"

Damon followed her gaze, straining his ears to pick up the distant conversation as a young man held open a dark car door for another figure obscured by shadows. A distinctly weasely _'Yes, sir, right away, sir' _was all Damon needed to be certain it was the same voice he'd heard earlier. As the black sedan pulled slowly into the street, Damon started their own engine and made to follow, a light rain beginning to fall.

"Do you think they'll lead us to wherever they're planning… this?" Elena took the papers from Damon's lap, glancing at the taillights ahead of them warily.

"I'm betting on it," Damon said in an undertone.

"Damon," Elena's voice rose slightly, "it says here they need _ten_ human… '_vessels_' to make this work…"

Damon turned briefly to see her horrified expression. "That would've been just her style…" he said darkly.

"Okay, _who_ is this woman?" Elena asked insistently.

"She was a vampire and, if the Herbalist was telling the truth, she was a descendant of Katherine's," Damon explained.

"Did you know her?" Elena tilted her head.

"In a manner of speaking…" Damon evaded.

"And you didn't know she was related to Katherine?" Elena seemed skeptical.

"No one knew Katherine had _any _descendants until you came along," Damon reminded her with a quirk of his eyebrows. "Though I probably should have recognized the similarities…"

"Like what?" Elena asked, almost as if she were afraid of the answer. Damon had forgotten how little she knew of her ancestry, even now—it always seemed they were uncovering some fresh horror in her lineage.

If only he could assure her she was never going to turn out like them.

But she never believed him…

"Katherine, as you know, was… manipulative… and she liked her games," Damon felt the tension coursing through his muscles. "But they usually served _some_ sort of twisted purpose. Avalinda, on the other hand…" he paused, remembering. "Avalinda brought new meaning to evil and psychotic that even Katherine didn't approach—she liked the games for the sick enjoyment of it, caused the suffering and the breaking and the insanity just because she could."

"No wonder you two crossed paths," Elena's mouth twitched cynically.

"I think I'm offended," Damon smirked with a sidelong glance, feeling a hint of regret surface at her words, even if he knew she didn't mean much by it—at least not now.

"I actually didn't know her that well," Damon clarified. "But Stefan did."

Elena turned back to him now, surprise in her eyes.

Good, he thought, that got her attention.

"I'm sure you remember Lexi," Damon went on, drawing a raised eyebrow from Elena. "Avalinda, as a matter of fact, was the one who turned her—back in the day."

Elena leaned back, processing this information. "And that's how she met Stefan?"

"As I understand it, Lexi wasn't as good a judge of character as she liked to think," Damon intoned sardonically.

"She certainly had your number," Elena shot back.

"That should just prove to you that Avalinda was _much_ better at hiding her motives than I have ever been," Damon pointed out, earning a small nod of dawning understanding from Elena. "She turned up, wormed her way back into Lexi's life, and met my dear little brother."

"How do you know all of this?" Elena asked slowly, picking up on the hardened edge in his voice. "What happened to her?"

Damon paused, eyes straight ahead as the rainstorm picked up around them. "I killed her."

There was a tense silence as Elena stared at him, jaw momentarily slack. "Why…?" she finally asked.

"Because _she_ tried to kill Stefan," Damon answered succinctly.

Elena's eyes widened, even as a knowing expression crossed her features. "And you saved him?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Damon scoffed. "I was all about the _'you die on my terms'_ back then—more fun in hating him while he was still alive."

Elena gave him a look that clearly said she was _so_ sure that was the reason—the look that said she _knew_ that he cared, that his front wasn't fooling her.

Of course, she was right… But Damon couldn't afford to let her see that too clearly.

It would hurt too much when it still wasn't enough.

"Why would she want to kill Stefan?" Elena asked instead.

"She claimed to want his daywalking ring," Damon twisted the lapis lazuli encrusted crest on his finger. "Which I always found odd, since she was taking up with a sorcerer at the time, probably could've figured a way around those pesky UV rays… Very devoted to her, he was, according to Lexi…"

"And you think he's the one who wants her back now?" Elena started to put the pieces together.

"Seems that way," Damon nodded, squinting into the gathering gloom. "They live long enough—he could still be in decent enough shape, and desperate enough to try something this ludicrous. Plus, he now has the added benefit of _you_."

Elena looked at him curiously before Damon tapped their research meaningfully. "_The blood of a direct descendant shall be necessary…_" she read, trailing off and looking back up at him—he could practically see the light bulb turning on over her head.

"If Avalinda knew she was related to Katherine, it stands to reason…" Damon shrugged.

"I still don't understand why Avalinda would kill Stefan just to get his ring," Elena frowned.

"Oh, I'm sure she could have gotten it without killing him—it was just her idea of fun to take it where she could force him into broad daylight," Damon explained. Elena let out a soft gasp at the idea—Damon was glad she finally seemed to be getting the picture. "Though," he added, "looking back on it, I'm sure his—and his ring's—connection to Katherine was just _fascinating_ to her."

Elena swallowed hard. "If she was older than you _and_ Lexi, then how did you…?"

Damon tilted a self-satisfied shoulder. "The element of surprise works wonders, I assure you," he smirked. "Even Stefan didn't know I was around at the time—but I often had an eye on him, showed up when it suited me…"

At the time, Damon hadn't wanted to acknowledge the vehemence behind the unexpected defense of his brother—the strength of the sense of protection that hadn't been fully suppressed behind that fateful switch.

"Lexi deigned to compare notes with me later, but I'm not sure Stefan ever even knew I was there," Damon went on quietly. "Preoccupied as he was with turning into a piece of vampire toast at—"

But Damon didn't have a chance to finish the thought as glass shattered around them and he felt the sting of a dart pierce his neck.

"_Elena_," he gasped out, even as she instinctively tried to shield herself. "Elena, take the, take the…" he fumbled for her hands to hold onto the steering wheel even as the world grew hazy around him. He could feel the familiar effects of vervain dulling his senses, fighting futilely against the assaulting void.

She was calling out to him frantically but he couldn't respond, only think of how he must have tipped off their prey—how he must not have been careful enough—

How he had let her down.

It was the last thought circling through his mind as he felt the car careen to the left and flip over and over and over…

And then the darkness finally overtook him.

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**A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading! I'll try not to keep you hanging so long this time—especially with an ending like that. I sincerely appreciate all of the alerts and favorites and particularly your reviews—they really keep me going!**


	15. Choices Made

**Author's Note: Well, I think this is a classic case of best laid plans… I honestly never intended to go this long without an update—but one thing piled on top of another… you know how it goes. But I can't apologize enough for the horrendous delay, and also can't adequately express my gratitude for your continued interest in and support of this story. How did we get to over 200 reviews? You guys are incredible.**

**But you're not here for excuses and apologies, you're here (I hope) for a new chapter—so let's get on with it, shall we?**

**A bit of a recap is included below to refresh your memories…**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Fifteen: Choices Made _**

_Previously on… Elena is beginning to acknowledge the growing rift in her relationship with Stefan, but is forced to table her worries when there is a brutal attack at Jenna and Alaric's engagement party. The bloody aftermath pushes Stefan over the edge, and his bloodlust leads to the death of an innocent human. Distraught, he convinces Damon and Elena to starve him out, hoping they'll find a mystical aid he's heard rumors of—one that helps a vampire ignore the lure of human blood. Of course, Damon and Elena—whose relationship has managed to grow stronger over the years—have other things on their mind. The attack perpetrated by werewolves at the bidding of a group of sorcerers, we later learn, nearly killed Alaric and came after Elena. Jeremy—who helped the attackers on the promise of getting Anna back—reveals it is Elena's blood that they wanted. Feeling guilty for his actions, Jeremy leaves town asking not to be followed. Damon and Elena, leaving Stefan with Alaric and Jenna, set out to find answers and lead any threats away from their loved ones. A trip to Bonnie reveals a possible link to an ancient Herbalist who once trained Pearl and currently lives in San Francisco._

_After gathering some research from Isobel's files in North Carolina, Damon and Elena make their way to California. Damon crosses paths with Jeremy on the plane, and the younger vampire is still unable to forgive himself and unwilling to see Elena. He has been following them to keep apprised of the situation, and intends to track down Tyler in Portland in the hopes of turning up a lead. Once reaching San Francisco, Damon and Elena confront the Herbalist—resulting in the Herbalist's apparent death at Damon's hand, as well as a lead on the sorcerers. An attempt to maintain their cover leads to a kiss that leaves both parties thrown, but they must once again suppress any other thoughts or concerns as they start putting the pieces together. Damon realizes that the sorcerers are attempting to resurrect Avalinda Kent, a psychotic vampire and a Petrova descendant. Avalinda was loved by a sorcerer before Damon killed her many years previous, when she had nearly killed Stefan. In the pursuit of the sorcerers, who plan to execute the violent and dangerous spell the next evening, Damon and Elena's car is forced off the road…_

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_…But Damon didn't have a chance to finish the thought as glass shattered around them and he felt the sting of a dart pierce his neck._

_"_Elena_," he gasped out, even as she instinctively tried to shield herself. "Elena, take the, take the…" he fumbled for her hands to hold onto the steering wheel even as the world grew hazy around him. He could feel the familiar effects of vervain dulling his senses, fighting futilely against the assaulting void. _

_She was calling out to him frantically but he couldn't respond, only think of how he must have tipped off their prey—how he must not have been careful enough—_

_How he had let her down._

_It was the last thought circling through his mind as he felt the car careen to the left and flip over and over and over… _

_And then the darkness finally overtook him…_

Damon woke suddenly and all at once, a habit borne of being a light sleeper when he slept at all—remnants of his human tendencies writ large on his undead life.

Yet even as his mind snapped into awareness, his body only sluggishly followed suit.

The first thing to assault his senses was the unmistakable smell of blood—some of it his own, but some distinctly human.

There was more of it than he would have liked…

His teeth itched, eyes stung as he fought to regain control of that primal desire, instantly regretting his decision to bypass a quick meal upon their arrival in San Francisco however many hours before.

Damon's vision slowly came into focus, taking in a dim room and a cold, hard floor on which he sat. His legs felt as though they were filled with lead while his arms ached in their current position, pinned as they were behind his back.

His usually keen senses were failing him, still clouded by vervain and hunger. And yet a rhythm slipped under the surface, a heartbeat.

_Her_ heartbeat.

"Elena..?" he called softly into the gloom, wincing at the weakness evident even in his voice.

"Damon?" came the quick response. Something shifted behind him as he realized it was not, in fact, a wall he leaned against but rather her slim form, their wrists tethered together with a heavy rope.

"How badly are you hurt?" he choked out, trying to sit up straighter.

"Oh thank God…" she breathed, her voice sounding hoarse as though she'd been yelling. Her head slipped backward in relief, brushing lightly against his own. "I'm okay, Damon," she answered his question. "But I didn't know what… if you…" she trailed off, the traces of fear still evident in her voice.

He squeezed her fingers where they were laced between his own, gratified when she squeezed back, a wordless understanding passing between them. "Where are we?" he questioned. "How long have we been down here?"

"I don't know…" Elena answered. "A few hours, at least. When the car went off the road I blacked out, and when I came to they were dragging us onto a boat in the bay… But they knocked me out again…"

"We must be in the cargo hold," Damon mused, gathering whatever clues he could from their scant surroundings.

Testing the strength of their bindings, Damon bit out a sharp breath as the ropes cut into his skin. "Vervain…" he muttered, aggravated beyond belief that he could be so incapacitated by a _plant_.

"Wait," Elena said quickly. "Do you think you could…" she hesitated, "do you think you could try to pull them again? I think I might be able to…" she trailed off, and he felt her slender hands try to ease between the ropes.

Damon took a deep breath. "One… two… _three_," he pulled, eyes screwed shut as he kept his protestations to a low grunt, trying to ignore the poison burning deep into his wrists. He was rewarded, however, as he felt Elena's hands slip between their bindings, even as he nearly fell backward at the sudden loss of support as she stood.

She was in front of him immediately, reaching behind him to pull the rope away and coax him into a more natural sitting position.

"I'm fine," he ground out, slipping feebly as he tried to stand.

"No you're not," Elena countered firmly, a crease of worry marring her features. "You need blood," she countered, and though she may not have gone so far as to tap a vein, her implication was clear.

"No," Damon looked away from her, afraid she'd see the telltale signs of how tempting an offer that was rise unbidden on his face.

"Damon…"

"No."

Elena let out a beleaguered sigh, standing and looking around the room. She walked a short distance away as Damon grit his teeth, forcing himself onto his feet in time to see her struggling against a heavy metal door. Damon knew it was futile even before he joined her at the rusting, immovable bolt.

"You need your strength," Elena looked him dead in the eye, the fire he usually loved taunting him now.

There was no use arguing the point, so Damon ignored her, turning his attention to the remainder of their damp prison. Eyes alighting upon a hatch in the ceiling, he made his way over with painstaking slowness. He shrugged off Elena's attempt at a steadying hand, silently cursing their attackers, this ridiculous predicament, his own rebelling muscles.

Of the things Damon hated with an absolute passion, feeling weak was high on the list.

The hatch lay just beyond his reach, though Damon had to acknowledge his likely inability to break through.

Just as he was about to suggest Elena climb on his shoulders to try and turn the heavy handle, there was an almighty creak and a deep _whoosh_ of roaring water.

"What the..?" Damon asked unnecessarily as water began spilling around the door at an alarming rate.

"Damon…" Elena stepped closer to him, a note of panic rising in her throat.

"Get up here," he struggled to lift her, indicating the beckoning hatch. She pushed and pulled with all her might, but there wasn't so much as a budge in either direction. By the time water began to pour in around the hatch seams, they were both soaked to the bone and Elena's teeth were chattering loudly.

"This is useless," she finally gave up, hopping down to stand in front of him, the water only a few inches below her shoulders. "Why are they doing this? Why kill us now? Why _this_ way?"

Damon looked at her sadly, knowing they'd finally exhausted all of their other options. "A little water isn't going to kill _me_, Elena…" he said slowly, watching understanding dawn on her features. "And don't ask me to explain their games—especially ones learned from Avalinda Kent. Maybe they're just buying time, maybe this is their idea of fun, maybe they just want you dead after all. It doesn't really matter now," he said harshly, already knowing what he wanted her to accept, and knowing it would be far from an easy sell.

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"Well then it's on you to get us out of here," Elena felt her own desire to fight building in response to Damon's words. "So _drink_," she extended her arm in front of her purposefully.

Elena didn't flinch when the veins rose around his eyes and his gaze flicked to the bloody gash along her hairline. She couldn't understand why he was refusing the one sure ticket out of here.

"I need more of that than you can afford to give," Damon visibly bit down on his instincts. "And I am _hungry_…"

"What happened to the infamous Damon Salvatore control?" she challenged him insistently.

His eyes narrowed in response as the freezing water now lapped at her chin. "And where will that leave you? Too weak to get out of here?"

"I sort of thought you'd take me along," Elena bit out sarcastically.

Damon rolled his eyes. "Do you know long it could take you to drown? Not long enough, believe me. I don't know what's on the other side of that hatch, how far down we are, how long we'll have to swim. If you want me to risk drinking from you, I'm going to need a little insurance." And with that, he held is own, still bloody wrist towards her.

Elena felt her eyes widen, balking at the implication. "No," she choked out, "no that's not… I can't…" she couldn't complete the sentence. It wasn't as though she'd never contemplated a day where she'd choose that path, though she'd never quite been able to wrap her head around it entirely. But that was a warped musing over future happiness, wondering how to be with the man she was supposed to love without end. And now she and Stefan… she didn't even know where they were, where they stood.

She couldn't just _do this_ because things looked bleak. She couldn't just make this impossible decision in the space of thirty seconds. She couldn't just _become a vampire_.

Could she?

"Elena," Damon said over the sound of rushing water, gripping her shoulders. "I'm not saying _that_ would even happen," he clarified, still short of making any guarantees. "Hell, I still have vervain in my system—I don't know if any of this would even work. But if my blood can keep repairing the damage long enough to get to safety, you have to take it."

"I don't know…" Elena shook her head, the water rising steadily in the near-darkness. She could just barely make out Damon's face in the shadows, mere inches from her own.

"Elena, please…" Damon swallowed, unable to hide the desperation shining in his eyes—a look she'd seen on so few occasions she could count them on one hand. "Please don't make me watch you die," he said fiercely, honestly, making Elena's breath catch in her throat.

Despite all of her reservations, the fear bubbling within her straining to find release, Elena sensed a growing calm wash over her as their eyes locked. She felt herself nodding slowly, never breaking eye contact as she held her wrist to his mouth. "I trust you," she whispered.

"I will get you out of here, I promise," Damon intoned as he held brought his wrist forward. She found his other hand with her own and nodded again, stifling a gasp as his fangs grazed her flesh.

His eyes never left hers as she forced herself to place her lips against his wound, wincing as the bitter, metallic fluid hit her tongue. It was an effort not to gag as his blood washed down her throat, even as she tried to disregard the pain of having her own flesh pierced, her own life-force draining out of her.

Yet somewhere past those initial, superficial reactions, underneath the intellectual understanding that this was not her first taste of his blood nor the first blood she had offered—willing or unwilling; beyond that knowledge lay another, deeper sensation.

Time seemed to slow down as Elena tried to put a name to the feeling that was now pervading her senses—the impression that she and Damon had closed some sort of primal circuit. It was as though the blood flowing between them formed a connection unlike anything she had ever experienced. And looking into those blue depths, feeling his hand close around her own, she knew he felt it, too.

A completeness, a totality, a sense of _whole_ that filled her up from the inside out.

And just as suddenly as it came, it was lost to her, leaving a feeling of something _missing_ even as she felt blanketed in a mysterious warmth.

"Ready?" Damon asked, both hands now at her side, strength returned to his features.

Elena nodded, unable to find her voice.

"Okay," Damon tensed his jaw, reaching up to the hatch with ease. "Take a deep breath and hold on tight."

Elena clutched to him as he forced the little door up and water rained down on them, taking up what little space they had left. They kicked together, forcing themselves upward.

It seemed to go on forever, a twisted path of doors and bulkheads looming in the darkness. All too soon, Elena felt herself losing the battle with her lungs, desperate for oxygen. The water began its last, relentless assault as the darkness became absolute.

* * *

Damon felt the moment that Elena went limp in his arms, that the thrashing of her limbs stilled and stopped moving either with him or in protest to the water.

Yet he just tightened his grip and pressed forward, not allowing himself to process the what-ifs and eventualities, not letting himself think about anything other than finding some small measure of salvation.

At long last he found it—the way out. Leaving the rapidly sinking boat behind them, Damon sped to the surface. As he pulled Elena up beside him, he didn't waste much time waiting to see if the fresh air would entice her deprived organs into life.

He already knew she wasn't breathing.

Finding the shore, he dragged her onto her back, pulsing a steady beat onto her chest and trying to force air into her lungs in an attempt at CPR.

Damon could hardly tell if he was imagining the faint heartbeat still struggling erratically beneath his fingertips, felt himself slowly losing control as her lips grew colder against his own.

"Come on, Elena," he ground out. "_Fight_, damn it."

He counted out as steadily as he could manage; _one, two, three, breathe… one, two, three…_

"You wouldn't want to back down now, would you?" he challenged her feebly, the blue tinge to her features sending a dagger of dread sharp as any stake piercing through his chest.

He couldn't lose her—_couldn't_. Not now, not this way… The guilt wrapped around him as he stared down at her, listened to the slowing rhythm of her heart. It was his fault they were in this mess now… His fault if he couldn't save her… He'd promised her.

_Promised_.

And yet he had no way of knowing whether his blood, his meager_ insurance_, was working—helping her or hurting her. Whether he was sending her into oblivion or a dark forever…

What if it didn't work, didn't save her life? What if this was it?

Just _this_.

And then again, what if it _wasn't_, not _exactly_?

The thought sent a chill through Damon he hadn't expected. But this wasn't how Elena Gilbert should enter that life, if ever she did.

This couldn't be how she was forced to choose a cursed eternity—hardly a choice at all—and all based on his promises and reassurances.

This couldn't be it.

"Come on, Elena," he repeated, resuming his ministrations, holding onto the faint sound of her heartbeat like his own lifeline. "Come on… not like this…"

A silent plea.

_Not like this…_

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**A/N: Thanks again for reading and sticking with me. It's another cliffie, I know, but you won't have to wait nearly as long for a resolution this time, I can promise you that. **

**That being said, I'm still very unsure about this chapter—and the longer I had to put it off, the more uncertain I became… I'd love to hear your thoughts, the reviews and such truly keep me going!**

**Happy New Year!**


	16. Black and Blue

**Author's Note: A huge thank you to everyone who is reading, alerting, favoriting, and especially reviewing—it really means the world to me. This chapter is sort of the last necessary step in getting us to the main event of this second act, so to speak. Then it won't be long until we're into the third and final act, sorting through the always fun character entanglements… ;) I hope you all will stick with me! Now then, shall we get to it? Yes? Excellent…**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Sixteen: Black and Blue_**

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Pounding, pounding, pounding, air.

Pounding like a crazy drum.

Beat.

Beat…

_Beat. Beat. Beat._

And _air_.

Coughing; spluttering, hasty breaths—too deep, too shallow, too _much_.

A rush of heat and then: cold.

Cold, cold, cold.

Burning, searing cold—pain at every turn.

Blurry, grey, muted—quiet and loud, everything and nothing, _blue_.

Eyes—blue eyes—_his_ blue eyes.

A disbelieving half-smile from the master of hiding emotions in plain sight.

Trying to speak past the fire in her throat.

Impossible.

The blue eyes were watching her, searching her, _caring _for her without saying a word. Fingers gentle at her forehead, her cheek—hands soft at her shoulders—arms strong, coaxing her up. Up, up, up.

How far up? How far?

"Am I…?" Elena managed to rasp at last, wincing at the effort—the first question worth asking.

"Nope," the trademark, cocky grin—forced on, covering the fear. "Human as ever."

Elena closed her eyes in relief. "You're sure?"

"You're really going to doubt my abilities to know live from undead?" Damon quirked his head, feigning a wounded pout. "Beating heart," he tapped her chest patiently, "pulsing veins," tracing along her arm, "breathing lungs. And," he added, eyes and brows working overtime, "I don't think I need to point out the irony of my undead organs forcing oxygen into yours."

Elena faltered on an eye-rolled smile, but didn't like to dwell on the particulars.

Such was the way with near-death experiences, as she'd come—too many times—to realize.

Damon was still leaning close to her, holding her up—she could see the jauntiness slip from his features like water. "Don't scare me like that again, hmmm?"

Elena shook her head, clutching onto him harder than was likely necessary.

Her teeth were chattering now, sending reverberations through her already throbbing head. Damon seemed to take this in at the same moment, rubbing his hands against her arms, but the pleasant warmth created there couldn't penetrate the chill that seemed to seep into her very marrow.

"Come on," he said, frowning, pulling her up. "We have to—"

"Damon?" a familiar voice rang out in the darkness. "_Elena?_"

"Jeremy?" Elena stared in disbelief as her brother came bounding towards them, skidding to a halt as he took in their appearance. "Jeremy what are you doing here? How did you..?"

"Holy…" Jeremy breathed as he looked her up and down, making Elena think she must look as bad as she felt. "God… ummm… _Hey!_" he called past them, suddenly. "Hey! They're over here!"

"Who are you—" Damon started to ask, forehead knitted in obvious annoyance. But he needn't have bothered as a tall figure came searching out of the shadows.

"You remember Lucy," Jeremy said, gesturing behind him almost sheepishly.

Elena could practically feel the tension radiating off of Damon at the sight of Bonnie's distant cousin—yet another former witch in waiting to Katherine that he had been forced to trust.

"And where does _she_ come into this?" Damon asked bitingly.

"Nice to see you, too, Damon," Lucy raised an eyebrow darkly.

"She found me in Portland, when I was looking for Tyler," Jeremy explained hastily.

"When Bonnie found out your big bad wolf was hiding out in Oregon—my backyard—she asked me to keep an eye on him," Lucy cut in.

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Damon snapped, already paper-thin patience ebbing quickly. Of course, Elena could hardly blame him, under the circumstances…

"Well it has to do with me catching this one," Lucy jerked her thumb at Jeremy, "skulking around. And ultimately it has to do with us, _here_."

"You have no finesse—explain," Damon turned to Jeremy, with a look that clearly said he wasn't impressed.

Elena watched as her little brother squirmed under the older vampire's scathing gaze. Yet she felt as though the conversation was going on around her, happening _to_ her—and as whatever adrenaline she had left seeped out of her system, she felt her legs, like jelly, threatening to give out from under her. She shouldn't have been surprised to feel Damon's steady arm slip around her waist without comment, like a buoy she didn't want to admit she needed.

"It turns out Lucy knows all about these sorcerers," Jeremy fidgeted.

"Of _course_ you do," Damon snarked in Lucy's direction. The witch simply rolled her eyes.

"When she told me how dangerous they were, I tried to call you, warn you," Jeremy's gaze cut between Damon and Elena, though she felt a twinge as her brother couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Both of you," he added quietly. "But the lines just rang and rang," he swallowed. "Until finally someone answered yours," he looked at Elena, still not _really looking_ at her. "When I asked about you he just said I was already too late, that soon enough my sister wouldn't be there for me to find."

Finally Jeremy's eyes locked with hers and for that flash of a moment Elena saw her little brother again, the one she'd feared lost forever back in Mystic Falls, the one who had changed so much with her unable to stop the descent—wherever it might lead. Mistakes or no, her baby brother was still there in front of her.

"I'm okay," she whispered, nodding at him as reassuringly as she could manage.

"The kid was a little freaked, so I tried to locate you," Lucy picked up the story. "His blood still tracks to yours, in case you were wondering," she nodded at Elena. "Still, it was a little concerning when I registered you in the middle of the Bay."

"I asked for her help," Jeremy shrugged. "It's not too hard for a vampire and a witch to hitch a ride on a private plane, so…"

"What happened to not letting vampires dictate your life anymore?" Damon asked Lucy dryly.

"Trouble seems to find me no matter what I do," Lucy's features split in a wry smile. "If I can't run from it, maybe I can atone for some of my mistakes. These sorcerers are a special brand of demented," she grew serious. "Most of your kind don't even bother risking the association."

"Most, but not all," Damon said darkly.

Lucy nodded appraisingly, producing a paper from her pocket. "Is that what this is about, then?"

Elena recognized her own handwriting. "Where'd you get that?" she asked, perplexed.

"We found your car first," Jeremy answered. "About a mile up the shore, in a ditch."

"Is this what you think they're trying to do?" Lucy pressed, holding up the spell to resurrect a vampire.

"Don't tell me you think they can," Damon's voice dripped with sarcasm.

Lucy tilted her head, looking at the scribbled spell. "I don't know, but the pieces fit… The name Avalinda Kent still figures prominently in more than a few horror stories in these parts. Always were rumors that she called the shots with this crowd—but that was before my time."

"So you know of Avalinda?" Damon asked, eyebrow raised higher as Lucy nodded. "Did you know she was related to Katherine?"

Elena sensed that this caught Lucy off-guard, but Elena was still watching Jeremy, who was taking all of this in with a sick expression on his face.

"What am I missing, here?" Jeremy asked quietly, looking between Lucy and Damon.

"From the looks of you I'd say you were nearly drowned," Lucy said slowly, eyes trained on Elena now. "And the fact that you're not dead, and that I can see tears in your clothing but no cuts… You gave her your blood, didn't you?" she turned back to Damon.

"And..?" Damon's hackles raised ever so slightly.

"And I think you played right into their hands," Lucy glared. "If you'd bothered to ask a witch about this spell, you'd know that if it was going to come anywhere close to working they'd need a suitable stand-in. Avalinda is long dead—they can't just recreate her out of thin-air. I'm sure they thought Elena would be a poetic choice for a new body. So they catch you—have a little fun in their own twisted way—maybe that's good enough. Or maybe they see how far they can push it. If she dies, fine—not a huge loss, and maybe still useful with a few extra steps. Or maybe she lives, and they get to come at you again while you're weak and distracted, and get what they really want when they're good and ready. Or _maybe_ they force you to turn her—and Avalinda gets to come back a vampire, in her own bloodline, with a new beginning."

Silence fell over the ragtag group at the conclusion of Lucy's little speech. For the first time, Elena truly felt the machinations of what they were up against outstrip her.

"So what do we do?" she asked, feeling the tendrils of strength that came with a sense of purpose working their way through her limbs.

"Get you out of here, for starters," Jeremy balked, turning to Damon expectantly.

Elena watched Damon closely, could see his inclination to agree—to protect her, first, always—fighting with his distaste at backing down.

"They're going to do this anyway," Elena spoke to him directly in low tones. "They're going to come after us—and even if they don't, people are going to get hurt. _Innocent_ people—just to do the spell, and who knows how many if they actually succeed."

She didn't have to say out loud what she knew he understood just by watching the conflict in his eyes. _She couldn't let that happen_.

"This doesn't have to be our fight," he answered her—only her.

Elena just looked at him sadly, registered the imperceptible nod in return. _He_ couldn't let this happen either.

"We're going to need some help," he turned back to Jeremy and Lucy.

Jeremy, still looking incredulous, nodded even as he tried to decipher his sister's expression. Elena just gave him an understanding smile, trying to help him comprehend that this was his way back to her, to their family—long road or not.

"I came this far," Lucy crossed her arms. "And I'm betting none of you know how to find them—I can make that easier."

"Good," Damon nodded approvingly. "Good…" he was pacing now; thumb, knuckles, pressed against his chin.

"Do you have a plan?" Lucy interrupted his methodical steps with a sarcastic expectancy.

Damon searched Elena's face one more time, making her feel as though he were seeking her preemptive forgiveness. "Best defense is a good offense and all that, blah, blah, blah—right?" he said, turning away from her to the group at large. "So let's give them what they want."

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**A/N: Apologies if this is a bit too filler, but it had to be done… I'll be back as soon as possible with an update! ** **In the meantime, give that review button some love. ;)**


	17. Heart, Soul

**Author's Note: Well, we've finally arrived at everyone's favorite part (cough, cough)—action-filled confrontation! Ha… I'm really not interested in dragging it out, always being more in favor of playing around with character—but I hope it's not too painful, and feels satisfying enough to have warranted the build-up of these last few chapters.**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Seventeen: Heart, Soul_**

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The sun was making its descent on the horizon by the time Elena took her position in the high brush beyond the clearing. It had taken Lucy all day to find the sorcerers' location, having had to breach their protections first. Probably just as well, since they'd needed time for dry clothes and a blood bank, though Elena suspected that evading the sorcerers that came looking for them made it difficult for Lucy to concentrate.

Of course, Damon breathing down Lucy's neck the entire time likely didn't help either.

"I still don't like this," Damon intoned lowly at Elena's shoulder.

"Sorry, but isn't this _your _plan?" she reminded him with a pointed glance.

"And you chose today to start listening to me?" he shot back with a slight grin, though she could see the genuine concern pulsing under the surface.

"I'll be _fine_," Elena laid a hand on his knee. "Lucy will be watching the whole time, and you and Jeremy will be right there."

Damon looked as though he might still argue, but Lucy appeared behind them with a stony expression. "They're already well into the spell," she whispered gravely. "If we're going to do this, we need to move. _Now_."

Damon nodded and swallowed, the steely expression Elena knew so well molding his features into a set façade. "You're up," he inclined his head to Elena. "We'll be right behind you," he added in an undertone.

Elena tried not to bite her lip as she stood and made her way towards the clearing. She knew she had to do this, and she wouldn't let herself be afraid. Even so, she couldn't stop a shiver of fear from running down her spine—not so much for herself, but for her brother, for Lucy… for Damon.

As Damon had reminded her sardonically that morning, Elena had more than enough experience trying to play martyr—but at least this time she wouldn't have to mean it.

Elena wasn't sure that was especially comforting…

The chanting was growing louder as Elena approached the tight circle of black cloaks. Her eyes widened as she saw what she had to assume were the ten human vessels called for by the spell, slumped on the far side against a clump of trees. All so young and most unconscious or worse, looking pale as ghosts—Elena hoped they weren't too late.

She stepped out of the shadows, catching the fading evening light in the clearing, but the sorcerers seemed too intent on their work to notice her. For a fleeting moment she hoped this might be easier than they thought.

And then she realized she was horribly wrong.

Elena felt herself being dragged as if on an invisible thread toward the circle, unable to find her footing as her toes swept the forest floor.

"Miss Gilbert," emerged a voice as the circle parted to face her, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is Samuel; to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?"

"I thought you could use a body," Elena stalled, trying to maintain her role as distraction while Damon and Jeremy sped behind the sorcerers, trying to remove the human victims from harm's way as quietly as possible.

"Oh we could," Samuel drawled, reaching a heavily scarred finger from under his cloak and drawing it along her jaw slowly—his very touch was all Elena needed to recognize him as the man who had attacked her at Jenna and Alaric's engagement party. "But we'd all but given up on having yours…" Samuel continued, undaunted as she tilted her chin up insolently. "Tell me, what would possibly bring you here now?"

Elena couldn't see the man's face, hidden under the black hood, but she could sense his distrust even as it mixed with his glee at having her within his grasp. "The witch that was with me today used to work for Katherine Pierce," Elena answered calmly, allowing her growing fury to drive away the fear and keep her outward expression impassive. "I told her I wanted to make a deal and asked for her help—she was only too happy to oblige."

"A deal…?" Samuel asked curiously and released her suddenly, dropping Elena onto her feet. She stumbled, forcing her to look up at him as she answered.

"I'll do whatever you want—just stop coming after my family and my friends." Elena stated her terms evenly.

"Oh the _nobility_," Samuel whispered menacingly as he pulled Elena back up by her hair. "_My Avalinda will_ _burn that right out of you_."

"So do we have a deal?" Elena pressed, seeing that a few of the sorcerers' hostages still remained in the clearing.

Elena could feel Samuel's gaze searing into her as he called out to one of his henchmen. "Gordon," he began, "why don't—"

But he didn't get the chance to finish his thought, as one of the would-be vessels started at being moved. She let out a high-pitched scream, stopping Jeremy in his tracks as he made to carry her away.

And then all hell broke loose.

Sorcerers scattered everywhere as Elena ducked away from the melee, dodging the sudden arrival of intense heat. Lucy was attempting to use the sorcerers' fire against them, but she was at least eight on one, magically speaking. Elena saw Damon and Jeremy leave their charges and join the fight, blurring back and forth as the smell of blood began to tinge the air.

Elena knew she was supposed to stay out of the way, get as far from the clearing as she could, but her gaze caught on the girl who had screamed, backed weakly against a tree. She couldn't have been more than ten years old.

Elena couldn't just leave her there.

"Shhhh," she whispered, as she skirted the edge of the clearing. "We're here to help," she tried to reassure the girl, who was crying plaintively. "Can you stand?"

But the girl's eyes were wide, fixed at a point over Elena's shoulder.

"You should have run while you had the chance," Elena recognized Samuel's voice behind her. "But no matter," he added with an eerie politeness, "we can finish this now."

Elena was dragged backwards towards a low stone basin she hadn't noticed before. Samuel was muttering under his breath, and Elena could feel a tightness settle over her chest, her throat. Her head ached as she felt her consciousness begin to slip away from her—but instead of darkness, a new presence danced at the edges of her mind.

She stared up into Samuel's dark hood, unable to move, shock and horror taking over as Elena felt herself lose control.

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Damon narrowly avoided a tendril of flame as he sped through the clearing, wishing witches and sorcerers alike had a weapon of choice not quite so deadly to _him_. Combine that with the surrounding forest of makeshift stakes, and Damon felt the vulnerability of his position.

Still, the furor of a bloody clash such as this one did its part to overwhelm any latent misgivings.

And having not seen Elena anywhere, Damon hoped that for once she'd resisted the urge to get into the middle of a fight in which she had no business being.

Damon saw the tree branch protruding from his shoulder before he actually felt it, spinning on his attacker, the vampiric thirst for blood stronger than he could remember it being in a long while.

He was caught off guard by the sorcerer's preparation with a second branch. Damon barely had time to smirk defiantly before Jeremy sped up to snatch the branch away and use it to decapitate the attacker.

Damon allowed an appreciative nod of approval, before turning his attention to the remaining contingent. Most of the sorcerers had either escaped in the confusion or been quickly dispatched. Lucy was still holding off several with some sort of invisible barrier.

He was about to return to the human victims when he heard it.

A low, mischievous laugh cut through the night and stopped Damon cold.

It might be in Elena's voice, but Damon would recognize that throaty cackle anywhere. "Avalinda…" he turned, face to face with Elena.

Except that wasn't Elena…

"Damon Salvatore…" Elena's mouth, Elena's intonations, Elena's deep brown eyes.

But _not_ Elena.

Damon felt the blood drain out of his face even as his anger rose; he stood still, calculating his next move, not ready to accept defeat even if all seemed lost.

"It is _so_ good to see you again, Damon," Elena—_Avalinda_—smirked. "Perhaps Samuel can find a suitable punishment for your indiscretions," she indicated the sorcerer standing behind her. "Or we could just draw it out until I'm _myself_ again," she grinned, teasingly sticking out her bottom lip. "I had always so wanted to get a taste of you…"

Damon forced himself to stay silent, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing him rise to her bait. She wasn't a vampire yet, at least… And as she took a step forward, Damon could see she was still unsteady on her feet.

And then she lurched forward, her eyes glazing over—for just a moment, Damon could swear he saw Elena again, simmering under the surface, just out of reach.

"That body doesn't belong to you, Ava," Damon ground out as she pulled herself upright.

"Oh no?" she pouted, regaining control. "But I think you like this body, don't you Damon?" she slithered forward, placing a hand on his chest.

Before he could answer, her eyes went vacant again. "Damon…" she breathed, an urgency behind the strained tones.

"Elena?" he grabbed her shoulders, searching her face for the fleeting signs of her presence.

"Oh, she's a fighter, this one," Avalinda was back, eyes flaring wildly. "But she won't be much longer… care to say your final goodbyes? I've always been a good listener."

It was only the fact that it was still Elena's face staring up at him that staid Damon's hands from snapping her neck. "Why couldn't you just stay dead, hmmm?" he took a step towards her.

"What fun would that be?" she met his gaze with a maddening quirk of her head.

Damon started as she grabbed his hand, but her features were pleading when he looked back to her face. He squeezed her fingers—_Elena's_ fingers—trying to let her know he would do everything in his power to get her out of this. He just didn't know _how_. Yet as quickly as Elena appeared, she was gone, replaced by Avalinda's haughty, victorious smile.

"Get her out," Damon turned his attention to the sorcerer identified as Samuel. "You know I won't let her live if you don't."

Samuel lowered his hood at last, revealing a long scar down the length of his face and a wicked grin that matched his erstwhile lover's. "No one succeeds in killing my Ava twice," he raised an eyebrow. "Certainly not you."

"He hasn't completed the spell!" Lucy called out suddenly from where she still struggled to keep the few remaining sorcerers at bay. "Damon!" she cried again when he didn't respond. "Just _kill him_," her voice was cracking under the strain of her own magic, but Damon could see the certainty in her eyes.

Yet before Damon could move to act on her words, Avalinda threw herself in front of Samuel. "Kill me, you kill her," her eyes sparked darkly.

"Kill him, kill you," Damon countered, poised for the right moment to present itself. He saw Jeremy emerge from the forest, having carried the last child to safety. Damon couldn't keep the triumphant smirk from his face in that last moment, confusion clouding Avalinda's face just as Jeremy barreled into her, forcing her out of the way.

Samuel managed to throw Jeremy up towards a tree haphazardly, but Damon's hands were around Samuel's throat in an instant. "I didn't realize that when I killed _your_ _precious Ava_, there was extra clean-up involved," he whispered, feeling his fangs extend. "But you turned out to be quite a little _pest_, didn't you?"

Samuel's eyes widened, but he was unable to choke out a response. "Oh, I'm sure you _loved_ her," Damon mocked mercilessly. "Those Petrova women—they're captivating, I know… Funny though, how you managed to find the most twisted and manic of the lot… Oh well, at least it won't happen again." And with that, Damon snapped the sorcerer's neck and pulled out his heart in two swift movements.

Damon allowed the lifeless body to drop to the ground, hurriedly turning to where Jeremy and Elena lay.

Satisfied that Jeremy had only been knocked out, a few stray branches protruding at odd angles, Damon moved on to the still form a few feet away.

She stirred as he bent over her, eyes fluttering open slowly. "Damon…?" she managed groggily.

Damon felt relief flood through him—_Elena_.

"Welcome back," he grinned, the corners of his mouth itching to break into a wider smile. "Evil really doesn't suit you, you know."

Elena still looked a little shell-shocked as he helped her to stand. "She just… and I couldn't…" she surveyed the carnage around them.

"She's _gone_," Damon stated definitively, forcing her to meet his eyes. "And she's not coming back this time."

Elena nodded meekly a few too many times, chin trembling slightly before she gave in, throwing her arms around his neck.

Caught off guard, Damon's hands took a moment before they came to rest on her back. She pulled in closer, breathing uneven as she tucked her head into his shoulder.

"Let's go home," she whispered haltingly.

Damon nodded, his hand running soothingly over her hair to rest at the nape of her neck. "Home," he agreed huskily, holding her as tightly as he possibly could.

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**A/N: Well, I never said writing action was my forte… ;) Do let me know what you thought—your reviews truly keep me going!**


	18. Steady Hands

**Author's Note: Well, as usual I had fully intended to get this out sooner, but life intervened… I do sincerely apologize, and thank you for continuing to come back to this story!**

**Anyhow, it might just be me, but I'm always rather interested in the calm _after_ the storm—so I hope you'll stick with me as we explore the journey home and subsequent return of our heroes of the day, and pick up a few of the pieces left by the first few chapters…**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Eighteen: Steady Hands_**

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"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Elena asked a little hesitantly, leaning against the arm of the couch.

"I want to make sure Lucy gets home okay," Jeremy answered, glancing over to where the witch in question lay—still a bit too pale. "I got her into this mess…"

Elena followed her brother's gaze across the suite Damon had booked for them after their ordeal. He now sat on the edge of the bed, urging Lucy to drink some water even as she looked ready to give him one of those witchy headaches. Elena felt a tinge of a smile creep over her face—Damon's bedside manner was… intense, if effective.

"But you are coming home this time, aren't you?" Elena turned back to Jeremy.

Jeremy looked down, shuffling his feet. "I can't go back there, Elena, not yet…"

"Jer…" Elena ducked her head, trying to seek out his eyes.

"People died because of me," Jeremy whispered fiercely. "You could've been…" he trailed off, finally looking at her—Elena felt her breath hitch at the pain staring out. "I can't just ignore that—_you_ can't just ignore that."

"If it hadn't been you, the sorcerers would've found another way to get to me," Elena reasoned. "And I know you didn't mean for any of it to get so out of hand," she added softly. "It just… it _does_ hurt that you would betray us like that… I didn't even know Anna was still so important to you."

Jeremy was back to studying the floor. "I know it wasn't exactly easy with her…" he began slowly. "But something was just simpler—I didn't have to try so hard, it just… we fit, I guess, I dunno… And I tried, after she was gone, I really did," he said earnestly, "but nothing ever really worked, nobody _ever_… And then once I became a vampire—I just missed her even more."

Elena nodded at this halting speech, feeling for the first time in a long time that she was seeing her baby brother clearly. "I know I'm not always your favorite person to talk to," Elena allowed sadly, "but you _have _to talk to someone, Jer, okay?"

Jeremy nodded slightly. "I would _never_ want anything to happen to you," he met her gaze. "You have to believe me on that."

Elena bit her lip, "I know…" She tapped his leg with her toes, trying for a smile. "Just come home, Jer—I want you to come home."

"I don't deserve that," Jeremy insisted.

But Elena wasn't going to give up on him—she just wasn't going to do it. "It takes time, and it takes effort," she said levelly. "But just look at Damon and me," she added, the corner of her lip tipping upward, "I think you'll find I can be very forgiving."

Elena resisted the urge to glance in his direction, but the set of Damon's shoulders in her peripheral vision told her he was listening. She was glad—sometimes she knew he needed to hear it. She wasn't sure exactly how they'd made it back from the darkest days of their friendship, and more than once she'd questioned her sanity, but now that they'd gotten here, to this point, they were stronger than ever. _She_ was stronger because he was there.

And she knew she couldn't let her baby brother sink away and out of her life either.

Jeremy looked between Elena and Damon thoughtfully, before nodding again, face a little less drawn. Elena knew that was all she was going to get out of him for the moment—she just hoped that he'd heard her, really _heard_ her, at least a little bit.

"You and Lucy have a flight out in the morning?" she asked instead, offering the change of subject Jeremy so obviously wanted.

"Bright and early," he agreed, shoulders slumping slightly in relief. "You sure you guys shouldn't wait, too?" he asked, concern darting across his face. "You still look like death warmed over," he tried for levity, but Elena could see the sincere worry there.

"Hey!" she mocked wounded pride, swatting at his arm. "I'm fine," she insisted, though she was more glad than ever to have the sofa behind her for support.

"Yea, sure you are," Jeremy raised an eyebrow with a smirk. He glanced back at Damon and Lucy, still resisting his somewhat impatient ministrations. "Damon'll take care of you, you know," Jeremy added quietly, demeanor growing serious once more, "if you let him."

Elena didn't doubt that, even if she couldn't let herself examine the thought too closely. "I need to go home," she answered simply, even if the thought of returning to Mystic Falls was anything _but_ simple. Not with Stefan wasting away, relying on her to find some non-existent cure; not with the rocky ground their relationship was currently framed upon, bloodlust or not… Still… "I need to go home," she repeated, knowing it was true.

* * *

"Is it really a good idea to be here?" Elena asked, hesitating at the door to the Herbalist's darkened shop.

"Aren't you the one who wanted answers for my dear little brother and his human-munching problem?" Damon looked around at her, challengingly. "Leave no stone unturned, Elena."

In truth, Damon doubted they would find anything here, but he wouldn't be accused of not trying everything.

"I guess you're right…" Elena allowed, her finger tracing over the shelves.

"Of course I am," Damon answered glibly. He could tell that Elena was torn between wanting desperately to get out of San Francisco and being hesitant to return to Mystic Falls.

New nightmares or old uncertainties—he wasn't sure which was worse.

At least he could keep her occupied… keep himself occupied for that matter, as the haunted look that lingered in her eyes was reminder enough that she'd almost been lost within herself, that she'd had too much taken from her, that _she'd_ almost been taken from _him_.

_Again._

"See anything promising?" he called out to her from his perusal of a particularly old tome.

"All of these jars are labeled in Chinese," Elena answered, disheartened. "I can't even tell what this is…"

"I would not touch that, if I were you," a voice emerged from the shadows, startling them both.

Damon was in front of Elena in a second's time, disbelief unable to completely cloud his better sense of protection.

"But I…" he paused—if it weren't for his keen senses, he'd think he was seeing things. "You should be dead."

Damon could hear Elena's heartbeat pounding at record speed behind him as Hu Yin came into full view. The Herbalist smiled politely, drawing his hands along perfectly pressed robes.

"I would not have survived so many centuries without a few tricks up my sleeve," the Herbalist answered serenely, extending his arms and adjusting his cuffs with a slight flourish. "But you are welcome to try again."

"I think I'll pass, thanks," Damon ground out, acutely aware of the girl standing silently behind him. "Though it's a very tempting offer." And it was.

"We're looking for something," Elena interjected, and Damon had to give her credit once again for her steady, defiant tone.

"Clearly," Hu Yin raised an eyebrow.

"A way for vampires to resist the need for human blood," she stepped from behind Damon, her hand resting against his arm briefly in reassurance.

Funny, Damon thought, he didn't feel very reassured.

"And even if such a remedy exists, what makes you think I would offer any help?" the Herbalist responded.

"You owe us," Elena crossed her arms.

"I fail to see how," Hu Yin clasped his hands together, staring her down with all the imperiousness of age and power.

"Oh come on," Damon scoffed. "Don't pretend like you haven't helped the sorcerers here, like you couldn't have been sending us off to get killed—or _possessed_."

Hu Yin considered them thoughtfully. "I also have not grown so old by choosing sides, or being bothered by the actions of those to whom I provide assistance. Surely, Mr. Salvatore, you are familiar with the concept."

Damon bristled, ignoring the wary look Elena threw his way. "That isn't my life anymore."

"No…" the Herbalist looked on, unperturbed. "Not entirely, it would seem. Nevertheless," he turned back to Elena, "I cannot help you."

"But—" Elena started to protest.

"Not because I will not," Hu Yin held up a hand, "because I _cannot_." He walked behind the worn wooden counter, lighting an ancient-looking oil lamp. "The cure you seek is nothing but a myth," he continued. "Vampires are tied forever to the lure of human blood—it is their fundamental curse," he caught Damon's eye, "and occasionally their truest salvation."

Damon's eyes narrowed at these words, resisting the urge to reach for Elena's hand as her face fell.

"You're sure there's no way?" she pressed.

"I suppose I can never be certain. However, I have amassed a great deal of knowledge, young lady, and all of it leads me to that conclusion." He reached under the counter, spurring Damon into alertness. "Calm yourself," the Herbalist drew a small leather-bound journal onto the counter. "I can, at least, offer you this—I believe your brother, Miss Gilbert, would find it interesting."

Elena took the volume cautiously, running her finger along the deeply yellowed edges of the paper. "How do you know about Jeremy?" she asked suspiciously.

"I know many things that might surprise you," Hu Yin answered obliquely.

"And why would he want this?" Damon looked on skeptically.

"It belonged to little Annabelle," a small, genuine smile broke the Herbalist's smooth façade. "Many years before _either_ of your times."

"Thank you," Elena said, surprised into sincerity.

The Herbalist inclined his head slightly. "Now I suggest you leave my premises."

Damon stood rooted to the spot, unsatisfied, but Elena was already turning. "C'mon Damon," she muttered. "Let's just go."

"I'd listen to her," Hu Yin intoned. "There is nothing more for you here."

Damon fixed the Herbalist with one last mutinous glare before backing out of the shop. Still, he couldn't resist a few parting words. "I'm so happy I failed to kill you," he smirked, hand on the door. "Or we might never have had this _enlightening _talk. But put her in danger again and I'll be sure to learn from my mistakes."

* * *

"I really can drive," Elena tried one more time as she threw her bag behind the passenger seat.

Damon just waited for her to get in, a resolute look on his face. "Like I'm going to let you drive my car," he scoffed playfully as he cranked the engine, smiling at the familiar roar. "You were the one that made me leave it here."

Elena sighed, rolling her eyes as he pulled out of the Charlotte airport parking garage. "But you need to rest, too—you didn't sleep at all on the plane, or back at the hotel."

"I don't need all that much shuteye," he grinned, though the action seemed a bit strained. "Now you just lay your pretty little head down," he cooed mockingly, "and don't worry about me."

Elena eyed him doubtfully, but leaned back in her seat all the same. She was glad to leave San Francisco and the past few days behind—too many close calls, too many bad memories. Possession by a crazed vampire was a new experience—and one that she never wanted to contemplate again. That feeling of being wholly invaded from the inside out…

And yet compared with the prospect of what lay ahead, Elena felt the knots in her stomach double over. At least fight or die was a straightforward predicament. Returning to Mystic Falls meant a whole different set of problems crashing back down upon her. Problems without such elegant solutions—problems with difficult choices attached.

Sleep seemed an easy out—but every time Elena closed her eyes, the lingering traces of Avalinda's brief presence seemed that much stronger in her mind.

Elena could see that Damon kept throwing worried glances in her direction, hidden as they were behind a practiced nonchalance. But she didn't know what she'd say, if she could say anything, and so she trained her gaze on the passing fields and trees, allowing them to lull her thoughts into an oblivious and monotonous daze.

* * *

"Any time today, Elena," Damon snarked, though he was barely capable of hiding his concern now—at least not to her.

Elena stared up at the Boarding House from the relative safety and security of Damon's car. She wasn't ready to go in there, not yet.

"I just need a minute," she managed, unable to take her eyes from the gabled windows, the heavy door…

There was part of her—the responsible part, the part that harbored a loving girlfriend and niece, the part that was brave and sure of her actions—that was already halfway up the drive. But there was another part—a part much larger than she wanted to admit—that was selfish and afraid, and wanted nothing more than to implore Damon to turn the car around, even if it only gave her another hour away from facing whatever would come next.

"_I'm_ the scary brother, remember?" Damon drew her from her thoughts, fixing her with that patented eye thing, eliciting a small smile at how well he always managed to read her.

"Nah," she said, nipping his chin between her thumb and forefinger, "you're just an old softy."

Damon managed to look hurt, even as his eyes sparked with that simmering energy that was uniquely his. "I think I'm offended," he crossed his arms.

Elena felt her smile growing more genuine as she turned away, taking a deep breath and stepping out of the car. Leaves crunched under her feet as the crisp Virginia air swirled around her. Steeling herself, she made her way towards the house one foot at a time.

It was easier knowing Damon was right behind her for each and every step.

* * *

**A/N: I hope we all enjoy the new episode tonight…! In the meantime, I hope you'll feel inspired to take the time to leave a review!**


	19. Ghosts

**Author's Note: So I owe you guys another apology for the delay in updating—I really do try to get to these sooner, I swear! In my defense, I did at least post a new oneshot in the interim—couldn't ignore the plot bunny any longer. You'll find the link on my profile page if you're interested—I would, of course, welcome your feedback!**

**Now, what you really came for was a new chapter, yes? Just a head's up, this one hearkens back to some of the earliest chapters—nothing you shouldn't be able to pick up on, I hope, but it could be worthwhile to refresh your memory if you feel so inclined. **

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Nineteen: Ghosts_**

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Elena came to a stop in front of the Boarding House door, running her hands through her hair as she attempted to take a deep breath.

"Are we going to go in…?" Damon asked from behind, words dripping sarcasm.

Elena laughed nervously. "I feel like I should knock…" Never before had a few days away from home felt so very long.

"It's your house now," Damon reminded her, reaching around to push the heavy door inward. "Who knocks on their own door?"

Amongst everything else that had happened, Elena had nearly forgotten that he'd given her the Boarding House, sealing it from unwanted visitors. Following him into the entryway now, though, Elena thought it had never felt _less_ like her home—too much had changed, _would_ change, and keep changing… It made her head spin.

"Hold it right—_Damon_?" Alaric had spun around the corner, crossbow in hand.

Damon held his hands up in mock surrender. "You can put the weapon down, Rambo, I promise not to tear your throat out."

Alaric looked like he was ready to retort, but Jenna barreled past him headed straight for Elena.

"You're home!" Jenna breathed a sigh of relief as she wrapped her niece in a bone-crushing hug. Elena surprised herself at how fiercely she returned the embrace, burying her face in her aunt's hair like a little girl.

Jenna pulled back, grabbing hold of Elena's shoulders as she looked her over critically. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine, Aunt Jenna," Elena lied, trying for a reassuring smile.

Jenna fixed her with a look that clearly said _'you're anything _but_ fine'_ and turned to Damon instead. "We didn't know when to expect you home—your last call…"

"Yea, sorry about that," Damon said with half a grimace. "Things got a bit hectic."

"But you found the sorcerers?" Alaric questioned, frowning.

"Oh, yes…" Damon answered, a dark smirk crossing his features. He set to relating the past few days' events and Elena let him. The memories were already seared into her mind, haunting her—she had no interest in reliving them for her aunt and former teacher. Elena hugged herself tightly, forcing her mind elsewhere. Invariably, it drifted to the other source of guilt and pain never too far from her thoughts.

Stefan…

What was she going to say to him?

"Elena..? Lanie, honey, are you with us?" Jenna was asking her, pulling Elena out of her reverie.

"Hmmm? Oh, yea, sorry," Elena forced another smile.

"Jenna asked if you wanted to see a doctor," Alaric frowned.

"No," Elena shook her head, "no I just need some sleep, I think." She glanced at Damon, feeling his eyes on her. The concern etching lines across his forehead just made her look away again. She wouldn't give in to their worry, not now—she had to stay strong, hold it together… Just a little bit longer, at least.

"How's Stefan?" she asked instead, looking between Ric and Jenna as they exchanged an unreadable, fleeting glance.

"As well as can be expected," Alaric shrugged as Jenna touched her arm sympathetically.

"I want to talk to him," Elena swallowed resolutely.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea…" Alaric warned. "Your vervain drip did wonders, but we've had to up the dose several times. He's not in good shape."

"I don't care," Elena insisted, "I need to see him." They couldn't keep him in that state any longer—even if she had no idea what to do about _them_, she couldn't let him give up on himself. She owed him that much, at least, no matter what happened.

"He's going to be hungry, Elena," Damon spoke up, arms crossed. "There's no telling what version of Stefan is going to be down there—he could see you as his loving girlfriend or as a tasty morsel."

"Stefan has to wake up sometime," Elena stared Damon down, "I want to be there when he does."

Damon considered her for a moment before dropping his arms. "At least let me go catch a bunny or something equally gag-worthy, and I'll go down there with you."

Elena nodded, recognizing it was as far as Damon was willing to go.

"Good," Damon fixed her with another long look before he twitched his jaw and headed back out the door. "Try not to miss me…"

As soon as he'd sped away, Jenna was back to fussing over Elena and leading her into the main parlor. Alaric stoked a fire and made her tea, which Elena accepted with another forced smile. Once the pair seemed to realize they weren't going to be getting much more out of her, they headed upstairs to pack their bags.

"Just shout if you need anything," Jenna smiled, worried, at the top of the stairs. "I'm sure Damon will be back soon."

As soon as Elena was sure they were out of earshot, she set her mug on the table and crept to the basement stairs. She couldn't stand to just sit there, doing nothing.

Elena walked down the dark hall warily, her hand running along the damp stone. She took a deep breath as she came upon the heavily barred door. Steadying her resolve, she peaked through the small window, stifling a gasp at what she saw.

Stefan lay where they'd left him, gaunt and pale—a tinge of grey at the edges. She could easily trace the veins down his arm to wrists rubbed raw where iron shackles bound him loosely to the wall.

She swallowed hard as she lifted the planks and pushed against the door. It swung open slowly, giving Elena a clearer view of Stefan's face—anguish written across every feature.

"Oh _God…_" she breathed, quickly crossing the distance to the bench and kneeling beside his still form. Elena ran a finger softly along his jaw, feeling her throat tighten painfully. She pulled back, studying him—it was worse than she'd expected, and she found herself doubting her readiness to deal with whatever came next.

Still, one look at his face and she knew it didn't matter what she was ready for.

Clumsily unhooking the IV tubes carrying vervain into Stefan's system, Elena ran her thumb gently along the back of his hand. It was only a matter of time before he'd wake up and she'd have to tell them what they'd found, face her own conflicted feelings as best she could…

So she settled on the edge of the bench, and waited.

* * *

It was several minutes before Stefan started to stir—several minutes longer than Elena wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Deep down she knew they'd been growing apart—long before he'd lost control over the blood—and that maybe it wasn't just another rough patch to fight through. But it was another thing to face what that meant in reality. And when he was so lost and vulnerable…

"Stefan..?" she murmured hesitantly as his eyelids fluttered, a hazy groan escaping his lips.

Then, before Elena could even think to react, his eyes were open and focused on her—a deep crimson ringing the vibrant green—and his shackled hands were scrabbling around her neck.

"_Stef—Stefan_!" she choked out, feebly. Even in his weakened state, he was still stronger than her. "Stefan, it's me," she gasped, trying futilely to pry his fingers away. "_It's Elena_—"

She could see comprehension beginning to dawn as his features softened slightly, and his eyes latched onto hers. But half a second later it didn't matter, because Damon was suddenly there and pulling Stefan away.

Elena instinctively clutched at her throat, trying to catch her breath.

"Am I ever going to see the day when you actually _listen_ to me?" Damon turned to her, one arm pinned under his brother's chin, a dark look in his eyes.

"I'm fine, Damon," she snapped, somewhat irrationally annoyed at his tendency to swoop in—she still never believed that Stefan would willfully hurt her. "I had everything under control."

"Oh, _clearly_," he drawled. He turned back to Stefan, who was no longer resisting, but seemed unable to completely suppress the veins around his eyes. "Elena," Damon said evenly without looking at her, "would you be a dear and hand me that bottle?"

Elena looked around, finding a bottle of blood on the floor that Damon must have dropped on his way into the cell. She handed it to him, crossing her arms petulantly.

Damon uncorked the stopper and handed it to Stefan without a word. The younger Salvatore looked at it suspiciously for a moment. "Oh come off it, Stefan," Damon sighed, exasperated. "I present squirrel _a la Damon_—a truly fine vintage."

Stefan nodded, needing no further encouragement, and gulped the liquid down greedily. He sank down onto the bench as he finished, his features returning to normal, if still sickly. "I'm so sorry," he rasped, eyes intent on Elena.

"It's okay…" she tried to smile, still massaging her neck. "Damon, could you give us a minute?"

Damon looked as though she'd just suggested he dance a jig in a tutu.

"You can wait outside if you have to," she pressed, fixing him with a glower that brooked no argument—she hoped.

"He's right to be concerned," Stefan looked to her desolately.

"You won't hurt me," Elena said confidently. "Please, Damon, just a minute."

Damon still seemed incredulous, but he walked towards the door all the same, muttering something about _'freaking suicidal'_ under his breath. "I will be _right_ outside," he glared at her.

Elena nodded, accepting the compromise as the best she could get. She knew she couldn't stop him from listening, but she needed this moment alone with Stefan. At least this way, she would be spared the heartache of recounting the conversation to Damon later…

"Are you okay?" Stefan asked, voice weak, as Damon stepped into the hall.

Elena let out a soft, ironic chuckle. "Am _I_ okay?" she raised an eyebrow, crossing the distance between them. "Look at _you_."

"I'll heal," Stefan shrugged. "Tell me what happened…"

"Later…" Elena deflected. "We're safe now, that's what matters."

Stefan nodded solemnly, leaning against the stone wall for support. "But?"

Elena sighed, crouching before him and reaching for his hand. "But we didn't find the solution you were looking for, Stefan, I—I'm sorry…"

Stefan's eyes closed slowly as he pulled his hand away. "Then you shouldn't have woken me up."

"How can you say that?" Elena rocked away from him.

"I can't trust myself," Stefan looked at her with forced calm. "This has gone on too long, and I can't—I just end up—" his voice cracked.

"Stefan…" Elena started to reach for him again, but stopped herself, standing instead. "Stefan," she started again, more firmly, "I know this wasn't the answer you were hoping for—that you wanted there to be some way to resist this part of yourself that needs the blood. But there are no easy answers, Stefan."

"Why put everyone at risk?" he challenged her.

"Why keep punishing yourself instead of accepting what you are and finding a way to move forward?" Elena retorted.

"You don't understand," Stefan looked away from her. "After everything that I've done…"

"Locking yourself up down here doesn't change any of that, and it just hurts the people that care about you," Elena argued. Yet she knew what was coming…

"So—what? Go back to hunting animals and hope I can keep it under control this time?" he shook the empty bottle at her. "If history is any indication—which, in my experience, it is—"

"So don't go back to animals, then," Elena cut him off. "Figure out how to be who _you_ are, who _I know_ you really are, on human blood."

"Elena…" he shook his head, turning away from her again.

"I know you can do it, Stefan," she took a step towards him, forcing him to look at her. "But…" she tried to steel herself. "But you can't do it for me or for anyone else—you have to do it for yourself… I can't be your reason."

Stefan's eyes widened slightly at that before they narrowed, a deep sorrow creasing his brow. "What does that mean?"

"It…" she wasn't going there now—not _now_… She still didn't know how to go _there_ at all, _if_ she'd be able to—if she _should_. But she knew she couldn't be that guidepost for him anymore. She couldn't be the only thing that kept him together when he lost everything else—this was too important—this was his _life_. "It means that…" she shied away from the intensity of his gaze. "It means you can't just live for me—you have to live for yourself."

"But I love _you_…" Stefan said simply.

"I know…" Elena whispered past the lump in her throat. "I know."

* * *

Elena stole out of Stefan's room on tiptoe, even though she wasn't likely to wake him. They'd finally convinced him to at least rest in his own bed—get his strength back, and tackle the hard choices in the morning. By the time she'd gotten him settled, Jenna and Alaric had already left for home on Damon's assurance that he'd call if there were any problem.

Her aunt had assumed that Elena would be staying at the Boarding House—usually a safe bet. Yet Elena couldn't bring herself to even _sit_ on Stefan's bed, much less crawl under the covers. Instead, she watched him sleep from the plush armchair alongside the bookshelves. His slumber appeared just as fitful as her thoughts…

She kept playing their conversation over and over again in her mind. As she sat there in the dark, occasionally bringing a glass of rabbit's blood to Stefan's groping fingers, she felt the memory fester within her like an open wound.

The door was open now, and she was helpless to shut it… Whatever she had begun to unravel, she was bound to see it through, no matter the conclusion.

Elena wasn't sure of the hour when she finally stirred herself from her silent perch, and padded down the hall. She could feel the exhaustion settling in every fiber of her being as the last few days finally exacted their toll.

Elena found her way to the guest quarters Jenna and Alaric had used during their stay, crawling onto the soft white duvet with a sigh.

It wasn't long before her eyes drifted shut.

* * *

Elena woke with a start, alarm rising within her as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. It took her a moment to recognize the guest bedroom, the elegant carvings of the old four-poster.

The images of her nightmare still played fresh across her mind, seeing her feet move without her own direction, hearing her voice speak with Avalinda's words… Yet this time, what began as a horrible memory had ended with the deaths of everyone she cared about, her own hands covered in their blood as a shrill bead of laughter split the night.

Elena shook herself, repeating over and over that it was only a dream… only a dream…

Yet she felt that she had woken into an old horror movie—a branch rustling against the window, white sheets billowing around the furniture they hadn't bothered to uncover. It was enough to send Elena scurrying from the room, feeling like a five-year-old running to her parents in a thunderstorm.

But she wasn't five anymore, and she didn't have the welcoming arms of a parent to run to with her fears and uncertainties.

She chided herself as she closed the door behind her, forcing herself to walk slowly and calmly.

Elena found herself hovering in the hallway, startled to find her path had stilled in front of Damon's room. She frowned, not knowing what she could possibly hope to gain in waking him—but she pushed the door open anyway, peering inside.

It was dark, but the bed looked untouched, and the wood-paneled floor was especially cold under her bare feet.

She pulled the door to, shaking her head—surely she was slowly losing her mind…

Elena glanced in the direction of Stefan's bedroom, but it seemed no more inviting than her dreams. She sighed again, continuing her path through the house, soon arriving at the stairs.

She saw the warm glow of a fire beckoning as she descended, a ghost of a smile stretching her features involuntarily as she found the reason for Damon's empty room.

"What are you doing up?" she asked quietly, coming around the couch.

He didn't seem entirely surprised to see her. "Not much for sleep, remember?" he raised an eyebrow at her, taking a long sip of amber liquid from his glass.

"I don't seem to be much for it either…" she rocked back on her heels, her arms twined across her stomach. "Mind if I sit with you?"

Damon didn't say anything, simply gesturing at the cushion beside him. Elena sat gingerly a few inches away, hands gripping the worn leather beside her knees. She was so very, very tired…

They sat in silence for a few minutes, but Elena could feel Damon's eyes boring into her. Somehow she knew if she looked at him, there would be no more hiding from the truth—it would be written too plainly on her face. She fleetingly wished she'd just stayed upstairs.

Damon set his empty tumbler on the table, swirling the ice around thoughtfully. "Stefan will come around, you know" he offered, voice barely audible even in the still night. "He always does, one way or another…"

Elena swallowed hard, suddenly finding it difficult to see clearly. She turned her face away from him, cheeks flushed as the first hot, salty tears sprang to her eyes.

She bit her lip furiously, willing the tears not to fall and failing miserably. She started to stand, to run away from him and all her thoughts of Stefan and Avalinda and the Herbalist and sorcerers and Jeremy and everything else, but his hand caught her elbow before she'd barely moved an inch.

She turned to look at him, jaw set defiantly. Yet the worry and hurt and doubt she saw mirrored in his eyes brought down her last defenses; his fingers brushing lightly over her arm and across her shoulders was all the invitation she needed.

Elena curled into Damon's side, desperately trying to keep her tears at bay as he wrapped his arms tentatively around her. It was a battle long lost. As he carefully brushed the hair back from her forehead, Elena felt her body begin to shake with silent sobs.

Damon continued to stroke her hair as she cried, spilling more tears than she'd allowed herself in a long time. She burrowed into him, crying for everyone and everything they'd lost—crying for the pain that they'd all been through and that was still to come—crying for the nightmares she couldn't shake, sleeping and waking alike.

She hadn't truly known it was what she needed until she felt her tears begin to run out, and the demons seem a little less real.

Damon pressed a hesitant kiss to the top of her head as she drew a few shaky breaths. Elena smiled sadly, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

But she didn't relinquish her place, sensing the first familiar feelings of security return to her as she sat encircled by Damon's arms. So she simply settled in tighter, tucking her head underneath his chin as he pulled her closer in kind.

It was then that the ignorant bliss of dreamless sleep finally carried Elena off, a few hours respite before she had to be strong once more.

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**A/N: You know the drill—don't leave that review button lonely!**


	20. The Bitter Trace of Loneliness

**Author's Note: I really do _want_ to get to these updates sooner… Hopefully I haven't lost you all entirely—I do think this chapter, at least, will get to a thing or two you've been waiting for, though I can't promise there isn't a wrench or two as well. And who knows, maybe this (unbearably long!) hiatus will motivate me. **

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Twenty: The Bitter Trace of Loneliness _**

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Damon squinted into the line of sunlight peaking through the heavy curtains. Ever since he'd turned, he'd had a strange sort of love-hate relationship with the sun.

But maybe he was just deflecting.

It took him a moment to realize what had woken him, but Alaric's appearance in the doorway was answer enough. The teacher raised an eyebrow at the scene before him, but Damon only rolled his eyes in response.

There was a time Damon might have smirked to be discovered with Elena Gilbert nestled in his arms, but a glance at her puffy eyelids and still-splotchy cheeks sobered any such inclinations.

After everything they'd been through in the past week—not to mention everything else that had been weighing on her, whether she said so or not—Damon would have been more surprised if she hadn't cracked. Even if it was just a little—this was _Elena_, after all…

Yet close though they were, such rare breakdowns were usually reserved for his brother. Or more recently, bottled up and hid away where she thought no one could see.

If he knew nothing else, though, Damon knew an internal crisis when he saw one. He was pretty good at them himself, after all.

Damon carefully extricated himself from the deep cushions of the couch, lowering Elena's head onto a pillow with feather-light agility. He resisted the impulse to trace the tracks of her tears where they settled along her jaw, brush away the salty evidence.

Nothing good would come of indulging those thoughts.

Straightening, Damon looked away, and gestured for Ric to follow him into the library.

"Miss us already?" Damon quipped, sniffing at a discarded, half-empty tumbler of blood he must have abandoned the night before. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he reached for a promising decanter instead.

"It's a little early for that, don't you think?" Alaric ignored Damon's remark, leaning against the mantle.

"So stage an intervention," Damon downed the liquor in one swallow, pouring another. "What do you want, Ric?"

Alaric sighed. "Jenna got a text from Jeremy last night, asking if he could come home…" Alaric blew the air of his lungs slowly. "She said yes, of course, but I… I wanted to know what you thought."

"And you couldn't have asked, I don't know, over the phone?" Damon pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing at the clock preparing to chime eight o'clock. "Or _later_?"

"Well seeing as how you haven't replaced your phone since your little watery adventure in San Francisco Bay," Alaric raised an eyebrow, "the first option was out. And at least I didn't wake you at three a.m. when I could practically hear the wheels of worry churning in Jenna's head."

Damon raised an eyebrow at that, but conceded the point. "Well, Elena seems to have forgiven him, so by all means, let bygones be bygones and all that jazz."

"I just want to know what to expect," Alaric ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Jenna is so tied up in knots over both Elena and Jeremy, she'd rather focus on them both being home safe than all the baggage that comes with it."

"Maybe it's better that way…" Damon muttered.

Alaric eyed Damon skeptically. "Jeremy grew up a lot after Anna died and… everything—but he ended up in the middle of things he shouldn't have, and got himself into trouble, and still ended up a vampire," Alaric scuffed a toe against the Persian rug. "And now this… I don't want to see things get any worse before they get better."

Damon knew better than to think life only had one valley in it—his experience was a lot of getting worse and only a precious few moments of getting better. "Growing pains…" he said noncommittally. "He'll be fine."

"You don't sound convinced," Alaric crossed his arms stubbornly.

"What do you want me to say?" Damon shrugged. "The kid's an idiot for playing into this mess and I've been known to hold a grudge—but I've done worse on _purpose_, and I'm still here. I'm hardly one to judge."

The teacher snorted a grin at that. "Damon Salvatore, did you experience some kind of personal growth when I wasn't paying attention?"

Damon raised his glass with a half smirk. "Amazing what you can get away with when no one's really looking…"

* * *

By the time Damon had shown Alaric out, Elena was no longer on the couch. Distantly, he could hear her talking upstairs, but Stefan's low tones never joined hers.

His brother really could be an idiot sometimes.

Then again, maybe it was a family trait…

But even Stefan couldn't go hungry forever, and Damon was betting the little critter blood he'd collected yesterday was nearly gone. It was far from his favorite activity, especially when it only reminded the vampire in him of more enjoyable hunts, but Damon shrugged on his jacket and ran out into the woods all the same.

It didn't take long to find a suitable donor amongst the Virginia fauna. The doe filled a few jugs out back as Damon absently wondered if Elena liked venison.

Damon looked down at the glassy-eyed animal, the blood growing sticky on his hands, and wondered what his life was coming to.

Elena was coming down the stairs as Damon entered from the kitchen. "One Stefan-approved care package coming right up," Damon gestured with the bottle of crimson liquid.

Elena's features wrinkled into a frustrated frown. "You have fun with that," she flopped into an armchair. "He won't say a word to me."

Damon didn't have any more empty reassurances in him, but he climbed the stairs two at a time, adopting his usual disaffected air as he sauntered into Stefan's room.

"So you're not talking now, is that it?" Damon stood beside the bed, Stefan's back to him where he sat hunched over on the edge. "Normally I wouldn't complain, but you've got Elena all in a strop."

Stefan still said nothing. Damon walked around to face him, but his brother's eyes were trained resolutely on the floor, his chin resting across knitted fingers, elbows on his knees.

Damon hadn't really thought it possible for Stefan to look any thinner, but the wifebeater he wore revealed only sinewy muscles and bone. "Breakfast in bed?" Damon lightly tapped the bottle against Stefan's protruding collarbone, dropping it in his lap.

"Go away, Damon," Stefan croaked out, still refusing to look at him.

"I don't think so," Damon challenged, casting a shadow over Stefan's stooped frame.

Stefan glared at him, allowing Damon a clear view of the veins lacing their way around his eyes. "I drink this, and you leave me alone?" Stefan shook the bottle, sloshing the blood around.

"Maybe," Damon shrugged. "But I think you'll drink that whether I want you to or not," he crossed his arms. "It's obvious you want to."

"What do you know about what I want?" Stefan snapped.

"Plenty, little brother," Damon intoned in a low voice. "Plenty."

Stefan sipped slowly at first, but within moments the bottle was empty. "Satisfied?" Stefan threw the bottle back at Damon, where it bounced off his chest onto the floor.

"No," Damon said simply.

"Damon, I'm really not in the mood," Stefan sighed, returning his head to his hands.

"Moody, but not in the mood—what else is new?" Damon snarked, pulling a low-backed wooden chair around, straddling it casually and propping his arms across the back.

"Sometimes I wish I drank human blood just so I could throw you out of here when I want to…" Stefan tensed his jaw reflexively.

"That'd be a start," Damon only smirked in response.

"What's it going to take to get you to leave, Damon?" Stefan asked tiredly.

"Just hear me out," Damon spread his hands wide, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "And then I'll leave you alone."

"Fine, talk, I can't stop you," Stefan leaned back on the bed, affecting disinterest. It might work on everyone else, but Stefan had been adopting the same pose in such situations since he was five, and Damon knew he'd been listening then… Though Damon was happy enough not to have to look Stefan in the eyes for this next part.

"Look, I know that when we first turned you just wanted a brother…" he began, swallowing whatever feelings he had of that time. "And I couldn't be what you wanted, or help you when you needed it." Damon thought back to his first encounter with Lexi, and forced himself to plow forward before he thought better of it. "But you got help anyway—and I know I took her away from you eventually, and I… I'm sorry for that."

Stefan maintained his stony silence, but his eyes briefly closed at the reminder. Damon wasn't sure if that was a good sign.

"If Lexi convinced you to fight, she didn't push you far enough. You're not doing anyone any favors pretending you can deny everything that you are, believe me… There's a third option between what you've been and what you're afraid of becoming. Think about that before you do anything drastic."

With that, Damon stood and walked slowly towards the door, smiling sadly at the patchwork of sunlight flitting across the wooden floor, broken by his shadow.

They'd never bothered to address pesky issues of forgiveness, of correctly assigning blame—there were too many years, too many incidents, too many layers of animosity both feigned and genuine. But they were still brothers, and Damon had never forgotten it—never been _able_ to forget it entirely—for better or worse.

Stefan's voice stopped him in his tracks as he reached the door. "I don't want to end up like you did."

Damon turned to find his brother looking at him intently. "I don't blame you," he said honestly. He might talk a good game, but he didn't often want to be himself either. "Whether you want to believe it or not, I have learned a few things—even at my worst… And I'm sure you'd be pretty good at avoiding my mistakes. You've pointed them out often enough."

"I'll think about it," Stefan said gravely after a moment.

"I _will_ help you Stefan," Damon added. It was probably something he should have done a long time ago… And he might never admit it, but Stefan had stuck around when Damon was beyond helping—and Damon had never been one to leave debts unsettled.

Stefan only nodded once. Damon watched his baby brother lace his fingers behind his head and settle back onto the pillow before Damon stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Elena might as well have been reading Greek for all the sense her textbook was making. She really shouldn't have bothered trying to catch up on her homework when her mind was still miles away.

Hoping for a more distracting tome in the extensive Salvatore library, Elena took her glass of wine—another fruitless diversion—and wandered into the shaded room. She was startled to come face to face with Stefan, stoking life into the fire in the grate.

"Hey," she stuttered lamely. She was glad he was out of bed, but he still looked drawn—and no less troubled than he had that morning.

"Hi," he answered, voice low and gravelly. There was silence for a moment, stretching uncomfortably in the chasm between them. "Where's Damon?" Stefan asked at last.

"He said something about errands," Elena shrugged, placing her glass on the railing and coming to sit on the couch.

"And he just left you here?" Stefan raised an eyebrow.

"I guess he trusts you," Elena tried to smile, but it died on her lips.

Stefan shook his head with a sigh, before settling himself on the low table in front of the couch. Facing her, their knees grazing each other, he gave her a long, penetrating look. "I think we need to talk."

Elena felt a little rush of ire at this suggestion, after the silent treatment she'd received that morning. "_Now_ you want to talk?"

He frowned and looked away, seemingly abashed. "I wasn't trying to hurt you, Elena, I just… I needed to think."

"And did you come to any conclusions..?" crossing her arms firmly to mask the hesitance in her voice.

"Damon says he want to help," Stefan sought her eyes again. "And I'm thinking about letting him try."

Elena nodded. "I'm glad," she offered—and she was. She knew Stefan would need his brother's help if he were ever going to see the other side of this. And it would do Damon good. It was high time they both admitted it. "You're going to get through this, Stefan," she placed a hand on his knee. "You're going to be okay this time, _really_ okay."

Stefan looked at her fingers splayed across his leg, swallowing hard. "But _we're_ not okay, are we?"

Elena drew her hand back as though burned, a sick sense of dread filling the pit of her stomach. So this was it, this was _it_… "Stefan, we don't have to do this now…" she tried, a last-ditch effort to avoid this even a moment longer, though she knew it was a feeble attempt.

Stefan's face was a study in grief, every line full of pain and sadness. "I think we're long overdue," he said resolutely. "Answer my question, Elena. Please."

Elena shook her head slowly, lips pressed together against the lump in her throat. "No," she whispered, "we're not okay."

Stefan stared at her for a moment, almost as though he couldn't believe she'd actually said it, before pushing off the table and stumbling away from her. He paced the length of the room while Elena watched him from her seat, heart racing. For the first time, she felt a tendril of doubt about his stability, but she quickly suppressed it.

"I just don't understand what happened," Stefan said at last, turning back to face her. "How did we get here?"

"I don't know…" Elena admitted. "I wish I did."

"Can't we fix it?" he asked, the flames creating a deep shadow of his features. It reminded Elena of another time they'd ended things in this room—but their lives had been so different. She would've given anything to stay with him, then.

"I think if we could fix it, we would have by now…" Elena stood in front of him. "I think…" she closed her eyes, remembering the advice Jenna had offered what felt like ages ago. "I think when you came into my life, we were both searching for something, and we found it in each other. And it seemed so perfect…" she felt her voice crack, "…even when everything was a complete hell. But maybe that's not what we need anymore—maybe _we're_ not what we need anymore."

"Elena…" Stefan breathed, reaching out to brush the single tear that had fallen across her cheek.

Elena's eyes fluttered closed at the touch, but she gently pulled his hand away. "Tell me I'm wrong," she whispered, searching the depths of his green, green eyes. They'd never seemed darker.

"All I ever tried to do was be there for you," he insisted, "take care of you."

"I don't just need you to take care of me, Stefan," Elena took a step back, steeling herself. "I'm not the seventeen year old girl that lost her parents, anymore, and even then… I'm stronger than you think."

"I know that," Stefan was quick to answer. "I just—"

"_No_, Stefan," Elena cut him off, shaking her head sadly, angrily. "No, you think you know, but you still treat my like I'm fragile."

"You're important to me, what's wrong with that?" Stefan looked hurt—which really wasn't what she wanted, but they were into it now, and she couldn't stop.

"I don't feel like an equal," she answered, surprising herself with the revelation. "I can't be this prize jewel up on a pedestal—kept shiny and in the dark, made out to be everything you thought Katherine was and never could be."

Stefan's face darkened. "That's not fair—she has nothing to do with us."

"I'm not so sure she doesn't," Elena fought to hold her tears at bay. "You _did_ love her once, Stefan—and I look just like her. It was the qualities you thought you saw in her that you found in me."

"You can't believe I still think of her like that, that I would compare you…" he trailed off, turning to the fire with a deep crease in his forehead.

Elena reached out for his shoulder. "I know you love _me_," she said softly. "But I think I've always known these things that lie between us, holding us back…"

"Holding _us_ back, or holding you?" Stefan crossed his arms, looking at her accusatorily, eyes brimming.

"Now who isn't being fair?" Elena raised an eyebrow.

Stefan sighed, every muscle tense as he looked away. "When I first came back to Mystic Falls," he said at last, voice thick, "I was more lost than I realized, and lonely… so lonely. But I found a home again, friends…" he faltered. "Even family… and that was all because of _you_."

Elena's heart ached as the tears began to fall from Stefan's eyes. "You aren't going to lose that unless you want to, even if we can't be together."

"Why can't we just go on, like we were before?" Stefan asked, sorrow charging the air between them.

Elena held a hand over her heart, placing her other over his. "Because _we're_ not like we were before."

Stefan nodded, a sad, disconsolate smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You _are_ stronger than I give you credit for."

Elena returned the smile as best she could, but she couldn't quite make it form. "I hope you know this isn't easy for me…"

"I know…" he wrapped his fingers around hers where they still rested against his chest.

She reached up and pressed one last kiss to his lips, closing her eyes at the memories it surfaced. "What we've had will always mean the world to me," she whispered, "please know that."

Stefan nodded, but held her close. "I don't want you to go…"

"I have to," she choked out into his chest.

They stood for a moment longer, before Stefan finally stood back. He pulled the ornate lapis lazuli ring from his finger and held it out to her.

"Stefan," she shook her head, a new sort of alarm rising in her. "I thought—"

"Just until I can trust myself again," he insisted, placing it in her hand. "Even if you have to go," he went on, chin trembling.

"Stefan, I _can't_," Elena shook her head.

"Please," he looked at her intently. "I'm going to do this for myself, like you asked," he said quietly. "But you're still the one I trust the most to keep me honest. Please…"

Elena nodded, gripping the cool metal and stone in shaking hands. "I have to go," she breathed, turning away and running for the door as her vision clouded with fresh tears.

The cool air hit her face like a slap across her hot cheeks as she stepped outside, blindly stumbling out onto the gravel. She was clumsily reaching in her pocket for her car keys when Damon appeared beside her.

"You _broke up_ with him?" he hissed, brows knitted in an intense though unreadable expression.

It wasn't the reaction Elena had expected, not by a long shot.

"How much did you hear?" she managed to ask, still fumbling to put the key in the lock.

"Enough," Damon got between her and the door.

"Please, Damon," Elena tried to push past him. "Whatever you want, I don't need it right now."

"You _broke up_ with _Stefan_?" he repeated, inches away from her tearstained face.

Elena was taken aback. "Are you seriously _angry_ with me right now?"

"Yes!" Damon bit out.

Elena felt all the bile from the grief she'd been feeling rise in her throat. "I thought you of all people would be happy about this."

Damon blanched for all of a second, but then his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You want to play it that way?" he spat. "I think I've been _ridiculously_ supportive. But you _were_ the one who insisted _'it's always going to be Stefan.'_ What happened to that?"

"Things change," Elena glared at him. "Don't pretend like you didn't notice."

"I only know what you tell me," Damon crossed his arms.

"Like hell," Elena glowered. He knew more than she cared to admit—even if she never said a word.

"And you couldn't have picked a worse time," he pressed. "You think it was going to be easy to get him on the right track _before_, I invite you to try _now_."

"Oh, I'm sorry if we've inconvenienced you," Elena sneered.

"No, please, let me continue to mop the Stefan-shaped puddle off the floor all on my own," Damon held his hands up defensively.

"So let me get this straight," Elena held up her fingers one by one, "are you angry because you think I'd be so callous to Stefan, especially right now, or because you might actually have to hold up your end of the bargain? Or is it because you're holding me to something I said _three years ago_?"

Damon didn't say anything, just stared at her levelly, eyes blazing fiercely. Somehow she didn't think any of the options she'd suggested were quite right, but she was too tired and too angry to try to figure out another Salvatore brother today.

"Just get out of my way, Damon," she swatted at him, exasperated. For once, he moved aside.

As she turned the ignition, she felt the hot, prickly tears threaten once more. Her heart had already been breaking, but now it was shattered in little pieces all over the floor. Elena couldn't even think about picking them up, especially not without help…

She hadn't thought she'd be losing that tonight, too.

* * *

Damon watched her drive away, and remained standing there long after the retreating lights from her car left him in darkness.

Part of him—a very selfish, petty part, he knew—felt justified for going off on her. She expected too much of him. How long could he be the supportive shoulder? The better man she always insisted he was? Watching them in his house, always _right there_, their _love_ taunting him.

Plus, Stefan was hardly in a condition to take something like this—that much was true, at least. And it was going to be hard enough to get his brother back on track without this new wrinkle.

And she had said, she _said_ it would always be Stefan for her.

But Damon also knew she was right… she was always right. He _had_ known things weren't quite right between them for some time, but he hadn't wanted to think about what that would mean.

And it wasn't because he thought he'd finally get a chance with her.

In fact, it was just the opposite.

Damon had long been convinced that Elena would never be his—she would never care for him like that, _could_ never, after what he'd done—forgiveness or not. And even if she did, he would never deserve her.

He'd made that decision long ago, when he'd told her he loved her but sent her to Stefan anyway, and compelled her to forget.

And now… now if she wasn't with Stefan, Damon was afraid he would lose her entirely. Even if being around them could be painful for him, at least she was _around_.

Now she might find her own life—find sanity away from this mess as best she could. Forget all about the Salvatore brothers and the pain and suffering they had brought to her life.

And if she did..? Where did that leave him?

_Alone._

Always alone.

* * *

**A/N: C'mon, you didn't think it could be all smooth sailing, did you? Thanks, as ever, for reading—you guys have been absolutely amazing with reviews and other such support, and I really do appreciate it and love hearing your thoughts. Think we can break 300 with this chapter..? ;)**


	21. The Forest for the Trees

**Author's Note: What's this? A timely update? I know, I must be ill or something ;) In all seriousness, I can't thank you all enough for all of the reviews and support for this story. I hope you'll enjoy what's to come!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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* * *

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**_Twenty-One: The Forest for the Trees_**

* * *

It was three days before staying in her childhood home and sleeping in her childhood bed really started to feel _strange_.

Elena assumed it only took that long because she'd spent those three days in a funk of tears, Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and late night television. Jenna had said she was entitled to a little wallowing—no one could stomach a breakup _and_ a fight with a friend without it taking its toll. But Elena was starting to get annoyed with herself, and was frankly embarrassed that she couldn't seem to pull herself together.

So she'd peeled off her sweatpants and stepped in the shower, intending to wash the hurt and confusion down the drain with the soapsuds.

Yet here she was, sitting at her bureau, twirling Stefan's ring absently between her fingers. Still, when she caught sight of her teddy bear's reflection in the mirror, sitting sentinel between her pillows, it was Damon she saw there—the stuffed bear nestled into his chest, that indelible smirk on his face—a memory from an earlier time.

She still didn't understand why he'd been so furious with her…

* * *

"_Elena!_" Jenna's voice rang out from downstairs. Elena rubbed at her eyes blearily, realizing she must have fallen asleep. Her well-loved teddy was placed carefully to the side before she launched herself down the stairs.

"_Ele_—" Jenna had started to call again when she saw her niece. "Look who's home," Jenna was smiling so broadly her cheeks were likely to crack.

"Jeremy," Elena breathed, bounding down the remaining steps and enveloping her little brother in a tight hug. "I'm glad you made it," she whispered in his ear.

"Me too," Jeremy whispered back, a hint of a smile stirring his otherwise solemn features.

"Ric," Jeremy held out his hand as he pulled away from Elena.

"Welcome home," Alaric shook the young vampire's hand with a smile that Elena thought was only slightly apprehensive.

"Thanks," Jeremy nodded, looking around at the little semi-circle surrounding him.

"Well," Jenna seemed to remember herself, "I'm sure you're hungry—I'll just," she blushed, "Well I'm sure we still have… something around," she finished with only a slightly diminished smile and headed off into the kitchen.

"Damon restocked us when he sent over Elena's things, don't worry," Alaric reassured Jeremy, with only a small glance at Elena.

Jeremy looked quizzically between them before following the teacher towards the kitchen. "You coming?" he turned back to Elena, still standing on the stairs.

"I'll be right there," she said past the lump in her throat, "I just remembered I have something upstairs for you."

Elena had forgotten all about the bag Damon had sent back with Alaric the day before—she wasn't entirely sure whether to be grateful or dismayed that he'd thought of it, and hadn't been up to going through it when Ric left it outside her door. Still, when she unzipped the top, her target was right on top. Which was just as well—no other memories to dig through, that way.

She found everyone in the kitchen, glasses in hand.

"Pick your poison," Alaric held out a bottle of beer and a half-drunk bottle of wine.

"Wine, I think," Elena caught Jeremy's eye. The wry grin he wore as he sipped from his own mug told Elena she wasn't likely to want what he was having.

She held out the worn leather journal towards him with a bittersweet smile. "The Herbalist gave this to us before we left San Francisco," she explained to his raised eyebrow. "It belonged to Anna—a long time ago."

Jeremy put his mug on the counter carefully, taking the tome from her as if handling a stick of dynamite. Everyone watched him turn the cover over, revealing lines of faded ink. Elena was sure that for a moment, not a single breath was taken.

"Did you read it?" Jeremy asked softly, locking eyes with Elena once more.

"No," Elena shook her head, brow knitted sadly.

Jeremy just nodded, closing the journal, and taking another sip of blood. Conversation resumed—asking after Lucy, recounting what Jeremy had missed at home—but Elena noticed how her brother kept glancing at the counter, worrying his thumb over the corner of leather and parchment.

* * *

It was two days before Jeremy emerged from his room. He'd said enough to assure them that he was fine, but Jenna still heaved a giant sigh of relief when he finally joined them for breakfast on that second morning, Anna's journal in hand.

"What did it say?" Elena couldn't help but ask as Jeremy pulled a stool around the island.

Jeremy just smiled at her before turning back to the group at large, but not before Elena saw the little spark in his eyes—clear as she'd seen them in years. Elena smiled into her cereal, and didn't press the issue.

"I want to go see if Damon needs any help with Stefan," Jeremy announced to their hodgepodge of a family.

"But you just got back," Jenna protested. "And besides, are you sure that's such a good idea..?"

"I'm just going to be a few minutes away, Aunt Jenna," Jeremy placated her. "And I'll be fine, don't worry."

"I'll drive you over after breakfast," Alaric offered.

"It's okay," Jeremy stood, pocketing the journal, "I'll walk."

And with that, he was gone.

"That little trick would've come in handy once or twice," Jenna grumbled in his sudden wake, stabbing at a piece of scrambled egg.

"Don't pout," Alaric chided amiably. "Besides, Damon could probably use the help with Stefan—Jeremy's trying to do the right thing."

"Still," Jenna pushed her plate away. "I'm not sure whether to be happy or annoyed you gave him that journal," she pointed her fork at Elena.

"Seems like it's done him some good," Elena defended herself. She couldn't explain it, but for once she wasn't so worried about her baby brother.

"I'm going to need more than five minutes with him to be sure of that," Jenna stood. "I think I'll go get dressed…"

That left Elena and Alaric alone in the kitchen. Elena watched him munch on his bacon for a moment, stewing over the comment he'd made.

"Have you been by the Boarding House lately..?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"I went by yesterday, but Damon still won't let me inside," Alaric took a last gulp of coffee.

"Why?" Elena asked, forgetting not to let her concern show. "Is Stefan…?" she trailed off, uncertain.

"I guess it's starting to get… challenging," Alaric frowned as he took his dishes to the sink. "Hasn't Damon told you any of this?"

Elena returned her gaze to her cereal bowl. "We're still not exactly talking…"

"I see…" Alaric raised an eyebrow as he ran the water over his plate. "That bad, huh?"

"That bad," Elena agreed morosely, pushing a lone Cheerio slowly through the last dregs of milk.

* * *

Elena found Alaric in the kitchen again that afternoon when she returned home—she'd thought it high time to return to her classes, and it hadn't been a moment too soon. The paper she had due next week was the least of her worries—she'd be lucky if she didn't have to get Jeremy to compel her professors into erasing a few absences from her record, at least.

"Where's Jenna?" she asked by way of announcing her presence.

"Grocery store," he turned to her. "Said she had to get out of the house… Rough day?" Alaric added as he raised a bemused, though not unkind eyebrow when Elena slumped against the island counter.

"Just lots to do…" she said noncommittally, pulling a beer from the fridge.

Alaric's eyebrow rose another inch. "As a card-carrying educator, I don't think it's schoolwork that's bothering you."

Elena took a long pull of the cool liquid, considering her answer. "I don't know what I did wrong…" she said at last.

Alaric blew out a long breath. "Well there's not exactly a _right_ way to end a relationship," he pulled out a beer for himself. "But for what it's worth, I don't think you did anything wrong with Stefan, from the sound of it."

"Damon would beg to differ," Elena snorted into her bottle.

"Doesn't he always?" Ric countered.

"You should have seen him," she went on. "He was _so_ angry with me… I know it's going to be hard, with Stefan—but it's not like we planned it that way, it's not like _I_ planned it that way."

"I'm pretty sure he knows that," Alaric said quietly, taking a thoughtful swig.

"So… what? He wants me and Stefan to be together? _Please_," she scoffed.

Alaric was quiet long enough that Elena wondered if he'd even say anything to that. "All this time—time you've been wholly committed to his brother," he spoke at last, "through every twisted action Damon cooks up or ridiculous obstacle you're faced with, has he ever actually left?"

"No…" Elena answered slowly.

"I'm not saying you were the _only_ reason for that," Alaric finished his beer, "but I think you'd be hard-pressed to get Damon to leave at this point—and I think you might take that for granted sometimes."

Elena winced inwardly at the thought. "I don't try to…" she muttered, but she could feel the cold fingers of self-doubt begin to take hold.

"I know," Alaric patted her shoulder kindly as he started to leave the kitchen. "But maybe he needs to know it'd be just as hard to get rid of _you_."

* * *

It was one day more before Elena was answering a knock at the door. "Damon," she blurted, surprised to find him standing on the stoop.

"Elena," he replied, without a hint of his usual playfulness. She'd always secretly loved the way her name seemed to roll off his tongue like salted caramel, but none of that was here for her now. "I'm here to see Ric—he called and _insisted_ I come by…"

"Oh…" she stood back, feeling her reserves of anger try to fight off her disappointment.

"Actually, I'm headed to your house," Alaric appeared behind her, addressing Damon with a self-satisfied smirk. "See if Jeremy needs any help with our junkie while you're gone."

"And where, pray tell, will I be?" Damon crossed his arms.

"Right here," Alaric grinned, cuffing him on the shoulder as he stepped past Elena. "Seriously guys, oldest trick in the book—I would've thought you'd see through that." He was bounding down the steps before either of them could protest any further.

"Well, I'm going to have to get him back for that…" Damon muttered, watching the teacher drive away.

Elena took the opportunity to really get a good look at him—and she wasn't exactly encouraged by what she saw. He didn't seem to have his usual swagger, nor was his appearance the typical picture of perfected imperfection—in truth, he looked even more worn down than he had when they returned to Mystic Falls.

"Have you slept..?" she asked hesitantly, stepping out onto the porch and making her way to the swing, hoping he'd follow—or at least stay.

"A bit," he shrugged, leaning against the railing, with an air that clearly meant he hadn't slept at all. "Have you?" he asked pointedly, suggesting she hadn't been so good at concealing the dark circles under her eyes as she'd thought.

"A bit," she echoed his words.

"Still having the nightmares?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Some," she admitted, feeling the stab of fear like ice run involuntarily through her chest.

"She can't hurt you anymore, you know," Damon said quietly, piercing blue eyes meeting hers.

Elena nodded, chewing at her bottom lip—but her thoughts couldn't have been further from Avalinda Kent. "Do you think I take advantage of you?"

"I'd love for you to try," he quipped immediately, a hint of his trademark smirk flashing.

"Damon, I'm being serious," she looked up at him, afraid of what a _serious_ answer might bring.

Damon gave her a long look before letting out a sigh and joining her on the swing, fingers gripping the edge of the whitewashed wood. "Honestly… I don't know."

Elena swallowed hard, determined to press onward. "We're… we're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, Elena, we're friends," Damon answered, though she didn't think she imagined the trace of bitterness there.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked in a small voice, at a complete loss.

Damon sighed again before sitting up straighter. "It's not really about what I want," he looked at her, face a mask but for his eyes—his eyes told an entirely different story… They usually did. "Do whatever you want to do—whatever you think you _need_ to do."

Elena could hardly meet his gaze, intense as it was with such a cloud of emotions she could hardly pick them apart. "Stefan and I were together for more than three years—I'm going to need some time before…" she bit her lip again. "I can't… I can't see him right now. And I don't think he really wants to see me either. You understand that, don't you?"

"Sure," Damon nodded once, standing.

Elena darted out a hand to catch him. "Hey," she slipped her fingers into his hand, though he didn't respond to her touch. "That doesn't mean I can't see _you_."

"I'm not going to be able to leave the House much for awhile," he dropped her hand. "We've started out slow, but once he gets into the really heavy blood doses…" he trailed off, grimacing. "Jeremy's no match for him, and there isn't exactly a helpful vampire hotline."

"Alaric's there tonight, though," Elena reasoned. "Just sit with me..?" she scooted over unnecessarily.

Damon frowned, but sat again anyway, tension vibrating in every muscle.

"I've missed you…" Elena offered into the silence, staring resolutely ahead.

She knew there was no way he hadn't heard her, but the quiet stretched on so long, she thought it might have been better to just let him go.

Then, _then_… just when she'd given up hope, his fingers found hers again, twining them together tightly.

As she leaned her head against his shoulder gratefully, she was almost certain she heard him murmur, barely audible above the rustle of the wind in the trees…

_"I always miss you."_

* * *

**A/N: I can't promise another update as quick as this one, but I really do make the effort, I promise. Until then, please do keep the reviews coming, and thanks for reading!**


	22. Shear

**Author's Note: Well, sorry I couldn't do a more reasonable turnaround this time, but I've had a rather stressful week and this chapter gave me a host of problems—hopefully you'll enjoy this all the same! Thanks again to everyone for reading, reviewing, and following this story, it really means a lot to me!**

**(Also, just to be clear, the sections of this chapter do skip and jump through time a bit, but are more or less consecutive chronologically.)**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Twenty-Two: Shear_**

* * *

"Mmm, _tasty_," Damon took a testing sip from the glass before handing it to his brother. "Just when I thought I couldn't have enough Peter Cottontail in my diet…"

Stefan took the tumbler of blood resignedly from his position on the couch. He downed the glass in two gulps, sputtering and choking as he fought to remain in his seat.

"Might've taken that a bit slower," Damon said nonchalantly, waiting for Stefan to regain control. "You really have been depriving yourself—it's no wonder this is such a hassle."

Stefan's eyes were still a bright red when he turned to him. "You upped the human blood content," he snapped bitterly.

"Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner," Damon deadpanned, sinking into one of the armchairs.

"_And you didn't tell me_," Stefan added pointedly, veins finally starting to recede in prominence.

"You're not always going to be prepared for temptation," Damon shrugged. "Self-control is even more important when you aren't expecting to need it."

Stefan couldn't seem to find a way to argue that point, though he obviously wanted to. Three weeks into this reverse-detox, Damon had to admit Stefan was doing reasonably well… Not that Damon didn't still confront most days with a stake up one sleeve, and an extra-potent dose of vervain up the other.

At least they'd moved out of the cellar and chains.

But now that they were approaching a fifty-fifty human to animal ratio, Damon could sense his brother's unease. After all, a healthy air of unpredictability was an effect Damon himself had cultivated for over a century—it wasn't so hard to recognize.

"It doesn't feel like it did before…" Stefan broke the silence that had settled between them. "Everything—every emotion is just as strong, stronger even, but…"

"Oh, come on, Stef," Damon rolled his eyes. "We're not going to talk about our _feelings_ now, are we?"

Stefan glared at him, and stood to leave. "Forget I even brought it up."

Stefan was almost at the stairwell before Damon let out a begrudging sigh. "Wait," he called out, stilling Stefan's progress. "What did you want to say?" he tried for a bored tone, at least.

Stefan turned back doubtfully. "You really want to talk about this?"

"Any12-step program worth its salt gets around to talking eventually—and I'd say we're well past the _'My name is Stefan, and I have a problem'_ stage—so you want to talk, let's talk," Damon gestured to the recently vacated couch. "Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Stefan took his seat again, a hint of wariness remaining. "I guess I feel like I'm still fighting not to turn everything off—not to give in like the first time… but whenever I almost fail, whenever I'm _this close_ to just giving myself over to the blood, it feels like that little switch is just out of reach."

"Apparently we outgrow that switch, little brother," Damon tilted his head. He bit down on the memories this revelation conjured—memories of having a similar conversation with Rose in this very room only a few years before. Damon pushed those thoughts and all that came with them away, buried them back where they belonged… "Didn't I ever tell you that?"

"I guess you forgot to mention it," Stefan raised an eyebrow dryly.

"The good news is that all that _guilt_ and _pain_ and _empathy_ you're feeling can't just be ignored," Damon spread his hands wide. "They'll always be there with you—just as potent as all your favorite rainbow and unicorn feelings… sometimes more so."

"How is that good news?" Stefan bristled. Damon could see the fear battling with relief behind his eyes—fear that he wouldn't be able to withstand the emotions that only grew in tandem to the blood he drank—relief that he wouldn't be able to turn them off so completely that he'd get lost in himself. It was easy enough to do without that switch helping you along, Damon knew.

Damon leaned forward, hoping Stefan was ready to not just listen but really _hear_ him. "Because you can use all of those emotions to keep you from doing something you'll regret," Damon looked away, settling as usual on the fire flickering in the hearth. "The trick is not to let the vampire convince you it will all be easier if you just had a little more blood… and if it was fresh, ripe with the scent of fear—all the better."

Damon could feel Stefan's eyes boring into him. "The vampire?"

"It's what we are, Stefan," he met his gaze levelly. "But it's not _all_ of what we are. You of all people should be able to agree with that."

Stefan nodded slowly, looking down at his feet. "Is that why you thought you could help me?"

Damon hitched a shoulder. "It took me a long time to figure it out… too long. You don't have that luxury—not after the years you've spent trying to pretend like you could resist everything about your very nature. It all builds and builds—and it's not going to get any easier."

"So what's the secret?" Stefan tried to cover the plaintive note in his voice—unsuccessfully.

"Hunting, killing—feeding the monster," Damon intoned, mouth twisting in bitterness, "it might make you feel better for that one _blissful_ second—but it won't last. And then you feel worse, and start all over again. If you want to learn to control it, then use what you have—even when it hurts like hell."

Damon wasn't sure he liked the look Stefan was fixing him with now—as if he was only just starting to see his older brother plainly. "And that's what you do?" he asked quietly.

The fire crackled and danced, flames licking at the charred wood relentlessly.

"I try to," Damon answered at last. "Not saying there isn't room for improvement… But I'm trying. And so should you."

* * *

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. So much quicker than Elena could have imagined.

It helped that she had a wedding to plan, though Elena suspected that she was putting more energy into planning than Jenna was. Something was probably wrong when the maid of honor was more neurotic about the details than the bride.

Elena sometimes found herself thinking that her event-planning attitude would make Caroline proud, which always made her smile—even if it was a bittersweet smile.

When there weren't caterers to call or dresses to hem or invitations to stuff, Elena had plenty of papers to write and exams to cram for… Lunches with school friends, or long weekends to visit Bonnie and Matt easily filled in the rest of her time.

Thoughts of Stefan, guilt—however rational or irrational—over the end of their relationship and whatever he was going through now, the usual sadness lingering from times gone by… it all started to fade—or at least lessen in power—just another heartache to submerge as deep as she could manage, and build upon with time.

Time did, at least, manage to reassure her that she'd done the right thing—no matter how hard it had been or would be for either of them.

Jeremy and Alaric did a decent enough job keeping her in the loop on Stefan's progress, though she suspected they varnished the truth. She kind of hated that.

Always _had_ hated that.

Better were Damon's texts—mostly couched with inane complaints about his brother—and frequently laced with crude jokes that made her grin in spite of herself, or teases of stories from another time that sparked her imagination.

Still, it was the few moments that Damon could get away from the Boarding House that brightened her days the most.

He refused to leave home at night or on an overcast day, when the sun couldn't be his ally in keeping his brother in check. As Stefan's diet included more and more human blood, even Jeremy and Alaric had to admit that if he wasn't too strong for them before, he was damn close now. Damon was fond of reminding them that he was the only one capable of putting Stefan in his place—and for once, he claimed, he was going to make the smart play.

Or at least the cautious one.

Elena couldn't exactly complain—especially when she felt useless not helping herself (not that Damon was likely to let her in the House, even if she'd been inclined to go).

She could tell, though, that it was starting to wear on him. He hated being cooped up between those old walls almost as much as she sometimes felt trapped in her old childhood room. And the endless shifts of Stefan-watch would exhaust anyone, even a vampire.

More than once, Damon had come to see her in the middle of the day, only to fall soundly asleep on her couch.

Elena didn't expect you could ever say Damon looked peaceful or innocent, but sleeping he looked so much less troubled… She sometimes wondered if his dreams brought any sort of release, some small comfort. He'd helped banish her own haunting nightmares, at least on most nights—she found herself wishing more and more that she could do the same for him.

Instead, she just ended up watching him sleep.

He'd caught her once, though. It had been a whitewash day bathed in weak, creamy light when he'd shown up unexpectedly, late in the afternoon when she was getting ready for a girl's night out with some friends from her creative writing class. He'd put on a brave face, but she could see the relief in his eyes when she directed him to her bed while she applied fresh makeup at her vanity.

He'd drifted off on top of the coverlet within minutes, but it was long after she'd finished the last coat of mascara that she realized she was staring. She finally turned from the mirror and walked to his side, settling herself at the edge of the bed, unable to keep her eyes from his worry-creased features. Her fingers reached out as if of their own volition, seemingly intent on smoothing the dark, stray locks behind his ear.

But then his eyes snapped open, meeting hers with unerring accuracy. He reached up for her hand, gently pulling it away, an unreadable expression on his face and a curious look in his eye.

They might've sat there for seconds or hours, Elena could hardly tell. All she saw were those probing blue eyes, all she felt was his hand pressing against her own.

And then, with a murmured apology and a nod toward the gathering darkness, the faintest flutter of a curtain, he was gone.

* * *

Damon was all the way up in the attic when he smelled the blood. _That_ in and of itself couldn't be a good sign.

And of course it _would_ be almost full dark, too.

_Typical_.

It wasn't hard to find Stefan once he'd caught the scent, but even so—his baby brother surrounded by a ruined cache of blood bags was never a pretty sight.

"Seriously, Stefan," he began tiredly. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?" Damon picked up a few shredded bits of plastic, and eyed the empty cooler. "It's a good thing Jeremy's out on a supply run already, even if he had to go three counties over… Gotta feed our growing boy."

At this point, Stefan usually at least twitched to the bait… And yet he remained sitting with his back to Damon, unnaturally still.

"Stefan..?"

When Damon walked around to Stefan's front, fresh tears were mingling with the rivulets of crimson liquid on his brother's chin. As he looked up into Damon's face, his eyes pulsed with insatiable hunger and grief.

"It feels… it should get _better_…" he mumbled, almost incoherently. "I thought—" he choked, sputtered. Suddenly he was standing, pointing an accusatory finger. "You _said_," he shoved Damon in the chest. "You _said_ it would get better—but I just feel _worse_."

Damon bit the inside of his cheek as he clamped down on the fresh surge of anger. "I tried to warn you—going on a bender isn't the answer. You're still not ready for this, Stefan."

"Oh, so I'm only ready when the high and mighty _Damon_ says I'm ready?" Stefan growled. "Well I'm _ready, _damn it—I don't _want_ to feel like this anymore. I _don't want_—" he broke off as Damon's phone buzzed with a new text.

Damon crossed his arms. "It's just Elena," he said sarcastically by way of explanation. "I was supposed to call her. But please, continue—what don't you _want_?" he narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, that's Elena?" Stefan jutted his chin out. "Far be it from me to stop you from talking to _Elena_."

"First of all, I'm here, aren't I?" Damon bit out impatiently. "And second, don't pretend like you wouldn't have answered her call _immediately_ if you were still together. But oh, _that's right_, you're _not_."

"So now you'll get her all to yourself, is that your plan?" Stefan asked pointedly. "Is that why she hasn't been around here lately—you can't stand the competition?"

"I'm going to pretend like you're not stupid enough to think I have some diabolical master plan to keep Elena from you—if that ship _ever_ held water it sailed a long time ago. And if you think you're in any shape to pose as _competition_," Damon scoffed, "I invite you to look in a mirror—we _can_ see our reflections, you know."

Stefan was moving through the house now, in spurts of speed—a twisted grin on his face as if this were nothing more than a game of cat and mouse. "No, that's always been the problem with you, Damon—everything's a competition with you, a game you have to _beat me at_. With Father, Katherine… Elena. Well, I'm tired of playing."

"I'd say you aren't making any sense, but something tells me you aren't going to listen to reason," Damon followed at a safe distance, a wary eye on all possible exits.

"I think this is the first time I'm making sense in _years_," Stefan crowed. They were in the Solarium now, the many windows opening onto inky darkness. "You can't stand to see me succeed, be happy—it just reminds you of everything you've never had."

"Do you think I've been helping you these past few months for my _health_? I haven't been holding you back, Stefan—you do that just fine all on your own. With a penchant for self-denial as stalwart as yours, you should be well on your way to controlling these impulses by now, but you're resisting. I think you're afraid of realizing you could have done this all along, if you hadn't taken the easy road—suppressed _everything_ instead of confronting _anything_ head on, dealing with it instead of wallowing and waiting for it to become too much to handle." Damon snickered, patience long lost, "or I don't know, maybe you didn't get enough hugs as a child."

"Like you did, right?" Stefan countered sarcastically. "You'll always have Mother to remember—the only one who loved you better than me," he was walking behind the piano now, running a hand along its edge. "Is that why you still play this? Trying to remember what that felt like?"

"Stefan…" Damon let out a low warning, not liking where this was going one iota. "I swear on her grave, this is just the blood talking—you want to see answers where there are none, because the truth hurts too much. But if you don't step off that ledge soon, I'm going to do it for you."

"You can't help me," Stefan swallowed hard. "You _can't_."

And before Damon could even move an inch, Stefan had flung the piano towards him with all his might. The wood splintered around him and into him, sending a thousand needles piercing his every nerve. Through the haze, he saw Stefan run.

* * *

"Damon..?" Elena pushed the door open hesitantly. "Stefan?" she tried on second thought, closing the door behind her. She stood in the foyer, unsure of herself or her decision to come here.

When Damon hadn't called or answered any of her texts or messages, she'd gotten an inexplicable sinking feeling in her stomach. Perhaps it was knowing that Jeremy wasn't around to help, or that Alaric had taken Jenna for a pre-wedding mental health vacation, but she felt increasingly uneasy at the thought of Damon and Stefan alone at the Boarding House.

It really _shouldn't_ have… It wasn't exactly unusual, after all.

But the darkness that seemed to pervade the House and the eerie stillness that cocooned her only heightened her disquiet.

"Is anyone home?" she called again, stepping down into the parlor.

"Where else would I be?" Stefan emerged into the room in a manner that she could only describe as _stalking_.

She could see instantly that he definitely wasn't himself, though it had been months since she'd actually seen him…

"Stefan," she clutched her bag to her side, "where's Damon..?"

"What? No 'how are you Stefan?' or 'you look like hell, Stefan, but it's good to see you'? Just 'where's your damn brother?'" his voice rose as he spoke, and suddenly he was behind her, brushing the hair behind her shoulder. "I've _so_ missed you, _Elena_…" he dragged out her name.

"_Don't touch her_," Damon's voice came suddenly from the far side of the room, before Elena could even decide what to do. He didn't look at her, but somehow she understood she shouldn't try to move away.

"Why?" Stefan asked mockingly. "Because you want her all for yourself? Well, you should be used to sloppy seconds."

Elena could feel Stefan inching closer to her exposed skin and tried to keep her breathing even, her heartbeat steady.

"Stefan…" Damon said warningly, pulling what looked suspiciously like a piano leg from his own abdomen with a grimace. "You don't want to do this—I _know_ you, you don't—"

"You don't know anything about me," Stefan spat.

"Yes I do," Damon bit back. "More than you realize," his jaw clenched. "I know how hard it is, but you have to see this through."

"But I could just make it all go away…" Stefan said softly, chin grazing her shoulder. "That _scent_, so sweet…"

"It's not going to fix anything, you _know_ this, Stefan," Damon was inching closer.

"Don't worry, Elena," Stefan whispered in her ear. "I'd never hurt you, I just need a little bit, just a _drop_…"

Elena gasped as she felt the cool brush of Stefan's teeth against the tender skin of her neck. She met Damon's gaze at the last moment before the tiniest _pinch_.

And then she was flying through the air, familiar hands circled around her as she landed with a soft thud with Damon cushioning the fall beneath her.

Her hair cascaded around them as Elena's heart hammered in her chest. She thought she should have felt some sense of shock, or maybe even relief—but hovering inches above those crystal blue eyes she struggled to even speak.

A droplet of blood splattered onto his lips—those lips she suddenly remembered kissing so convincingly back in San Francisco, remembered with such a startling clarity it was as though it had happened yesterday. But he only licked the speck of crimson away with a smirk.

"And here I thought these situations only materialized in the movies," he shot his eye thing at her, and just as suddenly she was back on her feet and he was moving away from her.

Elena realized Damon must have thrown Stefan back in the process of twisting her away, and he was now sprawled under the grandfather clock. Damon was already pulling him to his feet, placing a savage upper cut to his jaw.

"Damon, _stop_," Elena cried out—even now, even after _that_, she couldn't stand to see them hurt each other.

Damon held a fist in mid-air, but it was Stefan that really seemed to hear her—he looked towards her as if seeing her clearly for the first time all night. All the color had drained from his face, his eyes wide with some sort of inner horror.

"_Elena_," he breathed, eyes locked on hers. "Elena, I never meant—" he choked on his own words. "Oh God, I'm so sorry… I'm so…"

Elena looked away, feeling sick to her stomach. What was going on here? How had she been so _blind_, so selfish as to think only of herself?

"Save your apologies for later," Damon said gruffly, dragging Stefan towards the basement. "If she ever wants to hear them, it's not going to be now."

Elena stood rooted to the spot as she heard the clangor of the door to the basement room closing firmly.

"_Damon_," she moved to him as he returned to the parlor. "I'm so sorry," she said in a rush, "I had no idea it was this bad—I shouldn't have left you to do this alone," she shook her head, trying to keep her hands from shaking in the wake of everything that had happened so quickly, shattering the comforting story she'd been feeding herself for the past few months. "I'll…" she bit her lip, searching for the solution. "I'll ask Bonnie to put up a ward, at least keep him here so it's not all on you…"

Damon raised an eyebrow, moving to the drink cart and pouring a healthy three fingers of bourbon. "I wouldn't be able to leave either," he pointed out.

"Right…" Elena followed him across the room. "But you never thought you should," she admitted, "I was the one who kept asking you to leave, to see _me_… I didn't know he was having such a hard time… I shouldn't have put that on you too."

"It was just a bad day, Elena," Damon said quietly.

Elena frowned, running her finger along the gash in his shirt. "This is what bad days look like?"

He lifted his shirt a few inches, revealing smooth, unbroken skin beneath. "Already healed," he shrugged a shoulder. "It's _you_ I'm concerned about," he ran his thumb along her neck, slick with blood. "Nothing a Band-Aid can't fix," he said distractedly.

Elena wished everything were so easily remedied. "Is he really going to get through this?" she asked worriedly.

Damon let out a long breath as his hand stilled on her collar bone. "He's just being a pain in the ass, as usual," he said lowly. "But yea, he'll get through it. Just give it time."

They were standing so close together now, Elena could scarcely find an inch between them. "And you?" she asked softly.

"I want to kill him some days," he grinned darkly down at her. "But I'll be fine—I've got you," he said it almost flippantly, but his features looked so serious that Elena's breath caught in her throat.

Somehow they'd moved impossibly closer, so that Elena had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. She could feel her blood pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else. She could see the conflict in his eyes, simmering underneath an emotion of such intensity Elena struggled to name it. And even as she knew he wouldn't move any closer, she knew those lips were going to be on hers again, knew that this time it wouldn't be some desperate show, a trick… she just _knew_. And then…

She panicked.

Completely and utterly _panicked_.

"I'm sorry," she gushed, pulling away from him suddenly. She was backing away so quickly she nearly tripped on the step. "I'm sorry," she repeated, face crumpling at the look he imparted on her—part hurt disappointment, part cynical expectation.

"I'd say I can't wait forever, but obviously…" Damon gestured at himself with a self-deprecating half smile—it almost would have convinced her if it weren't for the sound of glass breaking in the fire that followed her out the door.

* * *

**A/N: If all goes as planned, the next chapter should be a fairly momentous one in the arc of this story—and hopefully pay off what I've been building to here and in previous chapters.**

**And thanks again for your support—I'm going to (fingers crossed) shoot for an update by Monday. Though I'd be remiss to make any promises, your reviews do encourage me to return to writing as often as I can manage!**


	23. Knowing

**Author's Note: Well, a day late and a dollar short, as they say. I can't thank you all enough for continuing to read and review! Hopefully you'll enjoy this installment… Sorry to say it's a bit shorter than I'd normally like, but in the interest of getting an update out there, and not getting into too many story elements that would make it unwieldy, I went with this. **

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

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**_Twenty-Three: Knowing_**

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Elena had driven to the cemetery without thinking, her hands steering the wheel while her brain spun and spun over so many questions.

Yet autopilot could only take her so far—and now that she was sitting here in front of her parents' graves, cool stone against her back, journal staring up at her in mocking blankness… she didn't even know what to say, where to begin.

Where _did_ it all begin?

She'd write a first word, half a sentence maybe before crossing it out with violent hash marks and trying again. For hours, her pen did little more than make angry blots on the page. At one point she'd almost chucked the entire tome into the creek, but she fell to her knees on the muddy bank at the last moment, clutching the worn journal to her chest.

She used to gain such solace from pouring her thoughts out onto the page, letting her pen wander into all of the places her head and heart were afraid to go on their own.

True, she had done it less and less since that first year after her parents died, but having her mother at her back had always encouraged her to keep trying—and now she felt as though she were failing her.

But these thoughts spinning through her mind were too big for a line of black ink on that stark white paper—how could she begin to explain something she barely understood herself, something she'd spent so long trying to ignore that she couldn't even wrap her head around it all at once.

When the first rays of sunlight began peaking through the leaves, Elena hefted a big sigh and gave it up for a lost cause. She stood, stretching achingly, closing her journal on the one word she'd been able to commit to the page:

_Damon_.

* * *

There was a time that Elena would have balked at the idea of staying in the cemetery all night—knowing what she knew now, she probably should be afraid to even go outside after sunset, much less spend it in the woods amongst the dead. Yet the weak dawn light hardly brought any more answers—only more difficult questions and fewer dark veils to hide behind.

To reach her car, Elena had to walk through the newest tract of graves—distinguishable mostly by the greater number of fresh flowers laid along the polished headstones. She passed a pot of silk lilies sorely faded by the sun and felt a twinge of inexplicable sadness.

She ran her fingers lightly over the tops of the gravestones as she went, suddenly startled to find herself looking upon a familiar name. Elena knelt down to trace over the words she felt most keenly …_beloved friend_… and straightened the dry and wilted roses no doubt left by Caroline's father on his last visit. Elena knew Sheriff Forbes hadn't been able to bring herself to come out here since the funeral.

"Hey there, Care…" Elena whispered, rolling back on her heels. She'd never been one to talk to the departed—not even her parents' graves. Yet now that she was here, she found herself desperately wanting her friend's advice—even if she couldn't give it, Elena needed someone to listen.

"Things have been crazy lately…" Elena went on sheepishly, her voice gaining strength with each word. "Jenna and Alaric are getting married—so that's good, at least. But there was this whole thing with Jeremy and sorcerers and this _insane_ resurrected vampire Avalinda—she really freaked me out, Caroline," Elena swallowed hard at the reminder, forcing the thoughts away. "Stefan and I broke up, you know—a few months ago, I guess. It's been hard, but… it was the right thing to do. He's not so good, though—he," Elena paused, smiling at the memories swimming to the forefront of her mind. "Well, he's never been as good with the human stuff as you were. But Damon's trying to help him…" Elena trailed off, feeling her throat tighten as she approached the central reason for her sleepless night.

"Everything is so _complicated_ with him lately—Damon, I mean," she continued with a deep breath. "I don't know how it happened, but… I think I feel something more for him than I—something _important_, and I just…" Elena scrunched up her nose, "is it weird for me to talk to you about Damon?" she asked suddenly. "I mean, I guess you did technically date him," Elena clarified. "And you had every right to hate him," she quirked her mouth sadly. "But I think he really did come to like you, before the end—it seemed… it seemed like you understood each other," Elena tilted her head. "I wish you were here to tell me what to do, Caroline—you always told me what you thought, even when I didn't want to hear it."

Elena tried to imagine her friend's voice in her head, but found it harder to reach than she once had. "It's not just about Stefan—whatever this is, it has nothing to do with him, or how we ended things or what he's going through now. Goodness knows that Damon has a rough enough past all on his own," Elena conceded, blowing the air out of her cheeks, "that _we_ have a rough past… But still, they _are_ brothers…" Elena could feel herself spiraling into the endless, circular patterns that had been plaguing her all night—that had been stalling out at the edge of her consciousness for months now, if she were being honest. "I don't even know if he wants anything to do with me anymore—I've pushed him away so many times, I can't expect… But I can't stop _thinking _about him—even when everything feels so messed up, maybe _especially _when everything is so…" her voice petered out as she felt the truth of that statement.

She smiled, feeling a buzz of nervous energy pull at her stomach as her thoughts settled for the first time in hours. "Thanks, Caroline," Elena stood suddenly, brushing her hand along the name one last time, finally knowing what she had to do.

* * *

"Elena," Jeremy said, surprised, as he opened the door to the Boarding House. He stepped outside before closing the door behind him.

"Is Damon home?" she asked hopefully.

"No, he left as soon as I got back," Jeremy frowned. "He, uh… he told me what happened."

"He did?" Elena blanched slightly.

"With Stefan losing it?" he looked at her quizzically. "It was kind of obvious, with the place looking that trashed. Are you okay…?"

"I'm fine," Elena reassured him, self-consciously pulling her hair over her neck. "I just really need to see Damon."

"I don't know where he went," Jeremy shrugged. "I guess you can try calling him—he didn't really seem in the chatty mood, though…"

"That's okay, I think I know where to find him," Elena said with a confidence she wasn't sure she truly felt. "You'll be okay here?" she turned back at the last minute.

Jeremy nodded reassuringly, stepping back into the house. Elena smiled her thanks, relieved she wouldn't have to face Stefan again just yet—as much as she knew this would be a process for him, she didn't relish dealing with what had happened last night. And she felt she'd already kept Damon waiting long enough…

* * *

Elena soon discovered her uncertainty to be unfounded, as she found Damon sitting on the moss-covered foundations of the old Salvatore mansion—led to him as if by an internal beacon.

She was sure he'd already become aware of her presence, but she didn't wait for him to turn towards her approaching footsteps. She wasn't even sure what kind of response she could expect—for all his apparent patience, she'd never exactly been fair to him when it came to… _this._

"Five minutes..?" she called out tentatively, invoking their old passcode.

He shifted on his perch to face her, and she held up the six pack of beer with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

"Little early for that, isn't it?" he nodded toward the alcohol. Elena just raised an eyebrow. Damon was in front of her in a flash, taking a bottle and popping the cap off with his knuckle. Still, his features were impassive as he returned to his makeshift seat. Elena could tell he wasn't going to make this easy for her—not that she could blame him, considering how many times she'd hurt him, however unintentionally.

"I'm sorry," she began lamely. "For last night. I—I shouldn't have run off like that…" His only response was to take a long pull of his beer, looking away somewhere over her shoulder. She plunged ahead anyway. "I've spent all night trying to figure out what to do—and still… I just wanted to run away, get _away_ from everything…"

Elena could tell she wasn't explaining this well from the look on his face. She took a deep breath, taking a few steps closer. "And then I realized that the only person I ever want to get away with is you," she murmured, searching his eyes for some sort of key into his thoughts. "But this time I couldn't ask you to make my head stop spinning."

He took a long moment to answer, placing the near-empty bottle on the ground carefully before standing to his full height. "I can't just be your security blanket, Elena," he said quietly, a flash of pain that made her wince.

"That's not what I meant," she said hurriedly, reaching out to him instinctively, but he pulled away. "Damon, I…" she struggled for the right words, wishing she'd thought this through more than just _getting_ here. "You once said that there was something between us," she held his gaze steadily. "And I wasn't ready to acknowledge it, then—and maybe whatever that something was, maybe it's changed with time, maybe it wasn't always what you wanted it to be, but…" her fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and this time he didn't stop her. "But I know, I _know_ now that there's something there—and… I'd like to find out what that is, if you still do."

There was a hopefulness in Damon's eyes that couldn't stay hidden—it nearly broke her heart. "What do you propose?" he asked huskily.

Elena smiled nervously, feeling her chest swell with the hope that maybe she hadn't lost her chance entirely. She swallowed, trying to keep the butterflies turning cartwheels in her stomach at bay as she threaded her fingers through the dark locks at the back of his neck. "I was thinking, maybe… something like this?"

And with that, she closed the distance between them. She placed a tentative kiss against his mouth, pulling back long enough to see his surprise turn into unmitigated yearning. He tilted her head back, searching her face as if seeking permission—she nodded almost imperceptibly.

As her lips crashed into his again, she felt all of her nerves and doubts melt away in the instant security of his embrace. There was a hunger in them both, an immediate response to the simplest touch—a thumb grazing along an arm, a tongue flickering along a swollen lip. It was slow and it was searching, but filled with such intensity and certainty that they might have been born with this knowledge of each other imprinted on their very DNA. The need to be closer to him nearly consumed her, drawn in by a feeling of _right_, of _finally_, that she could scarcely believe she'd gone her whole life without his lips against hers, free of inhibitions.

Elena was breathing heavily when she finally had to pull away, leaning back to look into Damon's face as he held her encircled in arms. It wasn't until that instant that she realized she'd never seen such an expression of genuine happiness grace Damon's features.

Still, it was a blink and miss it moment—one she found herself hoping to recapture as often as possible, the thought sending a pleasant rush down her spine. Problems and worries didn't just go away, but they didn't belong in the five minutes—they were for later, for tomorrow, for clear heads and senses of responsibility. But right now… Right now his eyes held a measure of caution when she looked again, but his lopsided grin was infectious.

"I'd say we still have about two minutes," he smirked. "So what're we gonna do with the rest of that beer?"

* * *

**A/N: Hope that left some of you a bit more satisfied..! ;) More to come, certainly… until then, please leave a note with your thoughts!**


	24. Finding Enough

**Author's Note: Once again you have my sincere gratitude for continuing to read this story and for your reviews! This chapter starts out right where the last one left off, so I've included a bit of the end here at the beginning…**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Twenty-Four: Finding Enough_**

* * *

_…Elena was breathing heavily when she finally had to pull away, leaning back to look into Damon's face as he held her encircled in arms. It wasn't until that instant that she realized she'd never seen such an expression of genuine happiness grace Damon's features. _

_Still, it was a blink and miss it moment—one she found herself hoping to recapture as often as possible, the thought sending a pleasant rush down her spine. Problems and worries didn't just go away, but they didn't belong in the five minutes—they were for later, for tomorrow, for clear heads and senses of responsibility. But right now… Right now his eyes held a measure of caution when she looked again, but his lopsided grin was infectious. _

_"I'd say we still have about two minutes," he smirked. "So what're we gonna do with the rest of that beer?"…_

* * *

Really, the beer was just a distraction—an excuse for a moment to collect his thoughts instead of rushing headlong into whatever whim took hold.

And who said he wasn't responsible?

Damon had been beyond wary when she found him in the clearing by his childhood home—unsure what she had to say, unsure how much more rejection he could handle. He'd learned long ago not to expect too much from her, or he'd just end up a bitter wave crashing eternally against the unforgiving rocks.

It wasn't until she'd actually kissed him—until he'd actually _felt_ her lips against his mouth, felt her body pressing against his hungrily—that he'd believed she wasn't going to just run away again.

There was a vindictive twinge that had wanted to punish her, tell her it was too late, that he couldn't go down that road with her anymore. There was even a pang in his conscience that worried he was taking advantage of some fragile state—he could see plainly enough that she hadn't really thought this through.

But this was _Elena_, and he'd been waiting for this for too long—and not just waiting for her, but for the _feeling_ of her. The feeling he distantly realized he'd been futilely seeking for the entirety of his preternaturally long life.

So when she was standing there in front of him, talking about wanting to figure _them_ out—well, there was no way he was strong enough to resist that. Besides, there was a large enough part of him that knew he'd committed too many sins to turn away from such a gift, freely given.

Still, when she finally came up for air, _his_ head was spinning, oscillating violently between hope and doubt. All he could think to do was point to the ready alcohol and try to regain some semblance of control.

That was how they'd ended up laying beneath the low foundation walls—all which remained of that wretched old house—slowly sipping from their bottles. Damon thought they probably looked like a scene out of a bad teenage chick-flick, with Elena tucked under his arm, the sunlight filtering down on them through the trees.

The silence between them wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but Damon didn't miss the furtive glances Elena kept shooting him—glances that were begging to decipher whatever might be running through his head—glances that read as mildly surprised, as though she had been expecting something else.

Damon couldn't exactly blame her—he'd run this moment through his mind more times than he cared to admit, and never once in all his musings did he stop to _think_. Truly, it was all he could do not to keep kissing her, to push her up against that crumbling stone pillar and never stop… Because even if he'd imagined it a thousand more times, simply kissing Elena had so far surpassed his expectations that experiencing the real thing made it nearly impossible not to do it again and again and again.

If not for a niggling sense of responsibility and an overly honed tendency toward self-preservation, he probably would do just that.

And yet damned if he wasn't just _sitting_ here, albeit in closer proximity to Elena than he was usually allowed to enjoy.

Damon wasn't one to talk about his feelings, to ask _'Where is this going?'_ or _'What does this mean?'_ But he could tell that his heart or his head or whatever was in charge today wasn't going to give him a pass.

And that was how Damon Salvatore looked the gift horse in the mouth.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked quietly, at least managing to keep his voice even.

Elena turned her head sharply, sitting up fully to face him. "What?"

"Don't play coy, Elena," Damon eyed her, saw all of her trepidation come back full force. "I've been hurt too many times not to ask," he admitted quietly in the general direction of his knees, unable to look her in the eyes.

"I wouldn't have come here, come to you, if I wasn't sure," she answered in low tones laden with guilt.

Maybe there was a time that would have been enough, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from pushing. "What changed?"

A deep line creased Elena's brow as she frowned at him. "This isn't about Stefan, is it?" she asked, a glimmer of frustration shining through. "That's over now, I think you're aware."

"He's still my brother, Elena," Damon raised an eyebrow. "And you were with him for three years—it wasn't so long ago that you thought it'd be longer, thought it'd be forever."

Elena looked down at the bottle in her hands as though choosing her next words carefully. "I can't help that you're brothers," she sighed. "But I don't think either of you would be here without the other, so I have to be grateful for that—for better or worse. And yes, I loved Stefan, and I still care about him—but I was wrong, we weren't meant to be."

On some level, Damon understood that—after all, he'd spent 150 years so _sure_ he was meant for Katherine, and she for him. And he had been dead wrong about that, in more ways than one. But that was Katherine, and the usual rules didn't apply to her. If Elena could change her mind about Stefan—_Stefan_… then what?

Elena turned away from his silence, eyes glassy as she bit her lip. "There was a time I really needed Stefan," she went on quietly. "He was an island in the storm after my parents died, and a safe shelter through much of what came next… and he was good to me. But we've had a fair share of problems, you know that."

Damon nodded with an ironic quirk of his head—boy, did he ever know that. Yet whatever those problems were, the two insufferable lovebirds had never deemed them insurmountable—until a handful of months ago, anyhow.

"I'd like it if Stefan and I could be friends, though I'm not sure either of us is ready for that yet—I think we could be good friends, given the chance. But what he was for me, as a boyfriend—it turns out it wasn't what I needed anymore," Elena looked out over the clearing, knees tucked under her chin.

"And now? What do you need now, Elena?" Damon couldn't stop himself from asking, sarcasm masking his earnestness.

"You," Elena said simply, turning back to face him with her brown eyes bright and locking onto his. If Damon's heart still beat, surely it would have stopped at the depth of emotion he saw reflected in those rich chocolate pools.

And yet some aggravating part of him was still fighting against the urge to just kiss her again already, and be done with it—some part that had been taken under one too many times not to know what drowning felt like. "I've been here the whole time," he pointed out.

Elena sighed, looking at him sadly. "I know," she reached for his hand, slipping her fingers tenderly across his palm. "But lately…" she bit her lip again, thinking. "Lately I've started to realize how much I need _you_ in my life—how much a part of me has probably always needed you in some way. I could never let myself see that before—maybe that's why it took me so long to figure out this time around—but now…"

"Now?" Damon pressed, looking at her intently.

"Now I won't let myself hide from the truth," Elena shrugged. "I can't apologize for being with Stefan, but I am sorry that those years came at your expense," she looked away, pulling her hand back. "I wouldn't blame you for being angry with me—I probably don't deserve to expect you to be there just because _I_ need you, because I think I want something more than what we are now."

Damon snorted. "If anyone is found undeserving, it's going to be me," he scoffed.

Elena looked stricken. "You can't still think that."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "I have the track record to guarantee it," he reminded her.

"Damon," she was fully facing him now, her hand coming out to rest against his chest. "I don't care about the past—we've put ourselves and each other through the ringer plenty. We've both made mistakes. But I know who you are—I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

"It must be quite the view," Damon still couldn't quite convince himself. But then Rome wasn't built in a day.

The corner of Elena's mouth tilted in the beginnings of a melancholy smile. "It is," she agreed.

"I don't want you to regret this," Damon swallowed hard, permitting himself to give voice to that last, penetrating fear. "I don't think I could survive that."

A single tear rolled down Elena's cheek as her fingers tightened in his. "I have no idea what will happen tomorrow any more than I can make promises for ten years from now, but I could never—_never—_regret following my heart. And my heart is telling me it belongs next to yours."

Damon stared into her eyes, searching for any shade of doubt, any crack in the genuine sincerity strengthening her voice, and found none. It was then that he could finally allow himself to give in—give in to his own heart and try to soothe its many breaks and bruises. Elena's lips pressed tenderly against his own was the only remedy he was interested in, and if not an immediate cure, it was a start.

A very good start.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it's another short one—I had fully intended to get back to Stefan in this chapter, but these characters didn't seem to want to let me get there this time. Let's allow them their moment, shall we?**

**You know the drill, please review!**


	25. I Saw You Standing Alone

**Author's Note: Another day, another chapter… have to deal with some of the drama again, of course, but as we draw to the close I think there's room for a few happier fluffy moments too. I know I could use some, anyhow—hope you agree!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Twenty-five: I Saw You Standing Alone_**

* * *

"You're back," Jeremy looked between Damon and Elena obliviously, "where'd you find him?"

Elena ignored the question, though Damon didn't miss the faint blush that crept into her cheeks. Damon smirked, momentarily distracted from the gloom of the Boarding House by the memory of the last several hours.

Hours he got to spend _kissing_ Elena. It still sort of boggled his mind.

But he had a blood junkie for a brother to deal with, so happier thoughts would have to wait.

"Is Stefan still downstairs, Jer?" Elena was asking instead.

Jeremy nodded. "Hasn't moved as far as I can tell. Won't take anything to eat either."

"Why am I not surprised?" Damon drawled. "Wallowing or self-assigned penance?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Kinda screwed up big time, though, didn't he?" he shot a worried glance at his sister.

"Mmm…" Damon agreed, non-committal, surveying the room for the first time. "Thanks for cleaning up the place."

"Needed something to do," Jeremy hitched a shoulder. "Solarium's still a wreck—don't think that piano is salvageable."

"No, I didn't think so..." Damon's mouth drew a thin line, as Stefan's taunts came back to him… _'…you'll always have Mother to remember—the only one who loved you better than me…'_ In Damon's experience, even the most malicious statements often had an element of reality tucked in somewhere. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time Damon exchanged harsh truths with his brother—nor would it likely be the last. But some things...

True or false, the suggestion still stung.

None of these were thoughts that gave Damon much desire to deal with Stefan, but Elena, at least, was staying on point.

"So you haven't talked to him either?" she interjected into the tangential conversation, worry edging into her weary tone.

"Nope," Jeremy sighed.

Elena frowned, "Well, maybe you should stay, but... Give us a few minutes, okay?"

"You're going down there?" Jeremy asked, surprised. The look on his face clearly said 'but he took a bite out of your neck—_literally_,' but he kept his mouth shut.

"Yes, we're going down there," Elena said resolutely, though her fingers slid into Damon's hand instinctually seeking support.

That gesture, at least, Jeremy didn't miss—but to his credit, the kid limited his reaction to a curious frown. All he said was a resigned, "Be careful," as they made their way to the stairs.

Elena's hand twisted ever so slightly in Damon's as they approached that familiar door—but she didn't let go. Damon, however, would falter where she was too stubborn not to—he dropped her hand gently, shaking his head when she shot him a quizzical look.

Stefan didn't need to be distracted by whatever was developing between them—not now, not when he was in such a fragile state. There was a time when Damon might have rubbed it in, but there was too much to lose by giving into that impulse.

Elena took a deep breath before barging into the little room. "Get up," she demanded, roughly pulling Stefan off the bench. Damon's eyebrows shot up in bemused surprise at her tactic, the dramatic shift in her demeanor.

Stefan's eyes widened as he clambered into a sitting position. "_Elena_," his voice cracked at the edges. "Elena, I'm so sorry—I never meant—" he reached for her hand but she crossed her arms. Stefan sighed, looking more haunted than Damon had ever seen him. "I never thought I would hurt you—_could_ hurt you," his beseeching gaze turned to the dirt floor. "God... I'm sorry..."

"Well I'm not," Elena's voice was hard, her eyes full of unspoken emotion. "I needed to know how you were doing Stefan—how you were _really_ doing."

Damon didn't miss the accusation in her voice, knowing it was directed at him for not being completely straightforward about Stefan's progress and more specifically his setbacks.

"And you're only apologizing to me?" she went on, gathering steam with each angry and incredulous word. "What about your _brother_? He's been trying to _help_ you, and you repay him by breaking a _piano_ over him? You know those are usually made of wood, right Stefan?" she paused, glowering and stepping in closer. "And I don't know what's more painful, a makeshift stake _this close_ to your heart," she jabbed Stefan in the side, approximately where Damon had been skewered by a piano leg, "or whatever hurtful things led you to do something like that."

Stefan swallowed hard, looking from her to Damon like a chastened schoolboy. Damon was careful to keep his own expression impassive. "You're right," Stefan agreed quietly. "I truly am sorry, Damon—I... I don't know what came over me."

"Blood-fueled anger came over you. And I don't need your apology," Damon said gruffly, though he knew he did—even if he had long since earned a hatred from Stefan he had never completely received, on some level he did need that apology.

"Maybe not," Stefan shrugged. "But you've been doing more than I should ask of you," he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, "and I _am_ sorry."

Damon fixed a smirk across his features. "I'd say you'd do the same for me, but..." he raised his brow sardonically.

Stefan quirked his head with a sad smile. The look that passed between them acknowledged that in some ways Stefan already had done the same... Or at least had tried—and Damon knew he wouldn't be here in this position, with the taste of _Elena_ still on his lips no less, if it weren't for his brother's moderating influence. That—combined with the guilt Damon still felt for having given up on Stefan that very first time, abandoning him because of his own anger when it had actually mattered—was enough to make Damon keep trying. No matter how exhausting Stefan could be.

Which, at the moment, was _very_.

Elena looked back and forth between them, obviously not mollified. "The two of you are impossible," she muttered. Damon only smirked darkly, but Stefan seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"So what's it gonna be, Stefan?" Elena turned back to the younger Salvatore, giving up on playing mediator. "Are you going to start taking responsibility for this or are you going to keep hiding behind your problem?"

"I'm trying," Stefan insisted, head in his hands.

Elena grabbed his chin between her fingers, "_Try harder_," she said fiercely.

"It's not that easy…" Stefan protested.

"Well I wouldn't know," Elena dropped her hand with a heavy sigh. "But Damon would, and he believes you can do this. I don't know what's holding you back, Stefan, but you need to get past it."

Stefan nodded solemnly, but remained silent, leaning forward over steepled fingers.

Elena shook her head in frustration, turning on her heel. Stefan let her leave, and Damon didn't stop her—he was too busy watching what she couldn't yet see. Damon was a perpetual cynic—skeptical of any good thing even if it planted itself on his face, certain that there was always a tarnish on the silver lining. But looking down on his little brother, something told him that this might turn out to be last storm before the calm—a transgression grim enough to scare him straight.

"You're never going to be perfect, Stefan," Damon chided glibly. "As much as you might like to think so."

Stefan didn't even glare at him, just keep staring at the wall, unseeing.

Damon crossed his arms across his chest, considering. "Just try to accept it, use it, move on," he added quietly. "You can't change what you are—so stop letting it turn you into what you hate, and decide to control it. One day you won't feel so much like you have to punish yourself."

Stefan's gaze seemed to come back to Earth, focusing on Damon despondently. "I never meant to hurt either of you," he intoned after a long pause.

"I know," Damon offered as he turned away, leaving Stefan sitting in a veil of misery on the rough-hewn bench. He left the door open, walking slowly, but without a backward glance.

He made his way up the stairs methodically, finding the Gilbert siblings in the solarium. Jeremy was picking up what remained of the old piano, loudly throwing fragments onto the pile—almost _too_ loudly.

"Elena was just saying she wants to do something fun," Jeremy grinned as Damon entered the room.

"Fun?" Damon raised an eyebrow, turning to take in Elena's position sprawled over the large cane-backed chair in the only untouched corner of the room. "You mean you haven't forgotten the meaning of the word?"

Elena sighed, flopping back against a pillow. "I just want to _get out_," she said dramatically, obviously still on edge from chewing Stefan out. "I know I should've given up on 'normal' a long time ago, but…"

"By all means, go," Damon gestured at the gathering dusk outside, "but I'm on babysitting duty."

Elena's face noticeably fell, crashing back down to reality with a heavy reluctance.

Jeremy looked at her thoughtfully before turning back to Damon. "You should go, I'll be okay here," he offered.

"I don't know about that," Damon eyed him skeptically.

Jeremy stood his ground, looking back at Elena, who'd turned her gaze to the window, before addressing Damon once more with the barest hint of a glimmer in his eye. "Really," he insisted, "go."

Damon probably should have protested—or hell, flat out refused. But one more look at Elena's wistful expression and he might as well have never argued. "Fun, huh?" he gave in. "Well it just so happens I'm pretty good at fun when I want to be."

Elena smiled widely. "I was counting on that."

* * *

Elena could still feel the after-effects of the adrenaline pumping through her system—that unsettling sensation of being fearless and frightened at the same time. In truth, she hadn't had much of a plan when she went off on Stefan like that. Tough love wasn't exactly her favorite method... Maybe Caroline had inspired her in more ways than one. All Elena knew was that once she'd gotten started, she hadn't been able to stop.

But now she just wanted to leave it all behind her—for the night, at least. And she thought Damon needed it as well.

As they drove along a darkening stretch of highway, Elena absently wondered if this counted as a date—the two of them, going out, for _fun_. It wasn't exactly unheard of, though it had always been firmly as friends and often with their 'five minutes' pact as a convenient excuse.

But now? Now they didn't have to hold back or pretend or ignore... The thought brought a smile to Elena's face.

"Having fun already?" Damon shot his eye thing in her direction. "If I'd known all it took was driving down Virginia backroads, I would've tried this strategy a long time ago."

Elena just smiled wider. "Where are we going, anyway?"

Damon wagged a finger at her playfully. "Now, now, _patience_, Elena. Just wait and see. Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you," Elena replied, returning her gaze out the window, though not before she caught the gleam of hopeful satisfaction in his eyes.

* * *

Where they were going turned out to be an old jazz club tucked into a back alley in Richmond. The dark wood walls and heady smell of cigars and liquor that permeated everything from the air to the worn leather and crushed velvet gave Elena the sense that she was stepping back in time.

Even if the wizened bartender hadn't had Damon's drink poured before he even asked, the easy familiarity with which he moved around the place made Elena think Damon had paid many a visit here over the decades.

"You've never told me about this place," Elena commented as they sat down at a tiny corner booth.

"Haven't I?" Damon took a sip of his drink, blue eyes sparkling.

"No, you haven't," she nudged his shoulder as he beckoned for the bartender to bring her a martini.

"Well, Miss Gilbert, you are now sitting in what was once my favorite speakeasy in the whole of Virginia," he paused, taking another long sip. "I remember when Ted over there," he motioned to the bartender, "was just a little imp and his grandfather, Atticus, was running the place."

"Does he know..?" Elena's eyes widened meaningfully. She never ceased to be entertained by the stories gathered over such a long and unnatural life. And being settled in this little bar made what might seem fantastical all the more real.

Damon smirked at her, amused. "No..." he answered slowly. "Atticus figured it out, though, and I think he told his son and Ted just enough to get me by. And compulsion does wonders... Still, I try to space out my patronage."

Elena nodded, realizing from the nostalgic look on his face just how much he wished he could come more often. Elena felt a swell of gratitude that he would come now, that he would choose share it with her. Stefan so rarely shared even a story from his past, much less a place so important to him. She knew Damon had far from told her everything, but at least he'd never completely shied away from it either—good or bad.

Elena nodded, settling back into the plush cushion and let the atmosphere swell around her. The musicians for the evening were settling into their own rhythm. Couple after couple took to the small open space in front of the band's little platform, dancing with apparent ease to the free-flowing beat.

"How do they do that?" Elena marveled admiringly.

"It's not so hard," Damon downed the rest of his drink and extended his hand to her expectantly.

"Really?" Elena looked up at him as he stood.

He just quirked a brow suggestively, pulling her to her feet and onto the dance floor.

Elena allowed Damon to guide her movements, feeling her muscles relax under his touch and her smile grow easier with the refreshing spontaneity of the music.

"You're really good at this," she offered as they stopped to clap at the end of a set.

"Not _so_ surprising, is it?" Damon smirked indulgently.

"No," Elena swatted at his arm in lieu of bursting his ego, but he just took her extended hand in his and pulled her closer as the sax player led off a slower tempo. "It's just that—" she stopped herself suddenly. Even if they had been strangers to each other, her mind wouldn't likely have been able to stop making comparisons between Damon and Stefan. On some level, she'd been making them as long as she knew the two brothers. But that didn't mean Damon needed to hear them—especially not now.

"What were you going to say?" he looked down at her curiously, though the tension in his jaw told her he already suspected the subject.

"It's nothing," she tried to assure him, turning her attention back to her dancing.

"Elena," he said with a weary patience. "Just say it, I won't break."

Elena smiled sadly, nodding. "I was just thinking that Stefan would never take me dancing—and when we had occasion to, it was all I could do to get him to sway back and forth."

Damon nodded, looking somewhere over her head. "Stefan's never exactly been one to let loose—I fear it's a permanent and progressively degenerative condition."

Elena laughed mirthlessly—she couldn't really argue with that. "Do you remember all of those ridiculous decade dances they did at school?"

"Vividly," Damon said flatly.

"I had to wear Stefan down endlessly to do anything outside the norm," she confided. "But you were _insufferable_—with your hand jives and tangos and electric slides."

"You know none of those belong in the _same_ decade, right?" he teased, valiantly sidestepping any talk of Stefan.

"You know what I mean," she narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance.

"Admit it," he grinned, "you knew I looked good."

"Maybe," she rewarded him, stepping in closer as a young woman joined the musicians on stage, the familiar strains of _Blue Moon_ filling the room.

"What about the Miss Mystic pageant?" she asked quietly, allowing the memories to flow over her.

"I remember that, too," he said huskily, fixing her with a gaze even more intense than he'd imparted upon her that day, the very _first_ and one of the very few times she and Damon had ever danced together.

"But that time," he leaned towards her, "I didn't get to do this..."

Damon leaned down to capture her lips with his, swelling to a crescendo with the deep, sultry tones of the song.

Elena leaned her head against his chest as they pulled apart, still moving in time with the music. He brushed a kiss against her hair, settling his chin on the crown of her head.

All that existed was him, the scent of his cologne, the feeling of his hand in hers, the gentle sway of his hips guiding her own. Elena didn't even notice the kind smiles of the other patrons as they danced, holding to each other even after the song had long since ended.

* * *

**A/N: The title of this chapter is a play on the lyrics of _Blue Moon_, which I mentioned in that last scene. If you're not familiar with the song, I recommend a listen—not only is it lovely and a classic, but oddly fitting for this pair. **

**I hope you enjoyed this installment—as always, I humbly ask for your feedback!**


	26. What We Need

**Author's Note: I'm sure everyone is looking forward to having new episodes again—I know I am. Hopefully that won't stop you from enjoying a little side-trip with this story... :)**

**Although I'm not keen to seem needy, readership—especially based on reviews—seems a bit down these last couple of chapters. I don't want to in any way diminish or seem ungrateful for the amazing support you all _have_ been giving, but it bears asking… Not sure if there's been a drop in quality or interest, or if I'm just posting at inopportune times. Or maybe, like me, you're all frightfully busy and reading fanfiction isn't your top priority, haha ;) Honestly, I can't thank you all enough for sticking with me on this and sharing your feedback; this story has had more encouragement than I ever would have expected—hopefully I haven't lost you!**

**Now enough of my prattling on—enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Twenty-six: What We Need_**

* * *

Damon heaved a sigh as he entered the Boarding House, thoroughly worn out by the lengthy Council meeting. Nothing to report, of course, but that didn't stop them from talking _endlessly_. Sometimes Damon just wanted to scream at them that they were looking _right at_ their very own vampire**—**before laughing mirthlessly and ripping their throats out.

But of course that wouldn't do.

At least Liz was good for sharing a knowing look from time to time...

Still, all Damon really wanted was to do was go see Elena. It had been a few days since their impromptu trip to Richmond and he was getting restless. Now that he didn't have to work so diligently to hide his feelings it was almost harder _not_ to be around her. But some part of him was holding back**—**or trying to, at least. He was determined not to scare her, to try and let her set the pace. Let her figure out where things were going, how _she_ felt... because if he was being honest with himself, Damon didn't have anything else to examine.

He loved her. Always had...

There wasn't much more to it than that.

But it was easy enough to distract himself when they both had their own responsibilities. Elena had assured him she'd have more time once she finished her term paper**—**supposedly today. And Damon, of course, had his favorite baby brother to contend with...

Speaking of which... "So I spoke with Margaret the other day," Stefan said by way of greeting as Damon was emptying a blood bag into a tall glass.

"Oh?" Damon said, less than interested in Stefan's old supervisor at the library.

"What exactly did you tell her, anyway?" Stefan crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, _that_," Damon grinned at the conversation he'd had with the batty old woman when Stefan had first decided to try the proper vampire diet. "I told her you had a relapse of a genetic condition and would be taking a medical leave of absence for the foreseeable future."

Stefan looked like he wanted to be offended, but Damon thought he detected the tiniest hint of mirth at the corners of his frown. "Well I guess it's not so far from the truth..." he acquiesced. "Was she concerned?"

"Oh, don't you worry little brother, dear old Mags would've brought you daily batches of chicken noodle soup if I'd let her," Damon assured him with simpering sarcasm. "And she was particularly afraid I might have inherited the same condition," he added with his most charming smile, "but I insisted I had a stronger constitution."

"Of course you did," Stefan deadpanned, though this time there was no missing the begrudging amusement. For the first time in a long time, Damon dared to hope his brother might be getting his sense of humor back.

"Want the rest?" Damon held up his half-empty blood bag, having noticed Stefan's eyes dart to it more than once.

"I don't know..." Stefan took an unconscious step back.

"You took it upon yourself to go 100% human a few days ago," Damon reminded him, already pouring a second glass. "Don't chicken out on me now."

Stefan still looked apprehensive. "I don't think that was exactly an example to live by."

"Don't go looking all dour," Damon pursed his lips, holding out the glass expectantly. "You were almost there anyway, we just need to work on one last lesson**—**moderation."

Stefan took the glass reluctantly, taking a tentative sip. Damon watched carefully as Stefan visibly fought for control, but at least he didn't down it all in one gulp.

"See there," Damon smirked, "two brothers sharing a drink**—**you'd almost say we were normal."

"Almost," Stefan took another sip, this time with the barest betrayal of how much he wanted it.

"So why were you calling Margaret?" Damon returned to their earlier conversation. "Planning on going back to work..?"

"No..." Stefan said slowly. "I asked for her help finding the old household inventories from the Salvatore mansion**—**Alaric brought them by yesterday."

"If you're missing something, I think it's a little late to go looking," Damon said dryly, unsure of where this was going.

"Oh I found what I was looking for..." Stefan said cryptically, walking over to pull a faded and well-used ledger from the shelf. "See here," Stefan pointed to a line, "it details a new piano purchased by Mrs. Oriana Salvatore in 1839."

"What's your point?" Damon said sharply. There was a reason he and Stefan avoided their mother as a topic. He was trying very hard to be patient with Stefan but after their last knock-down drag-out, he wasn't in the mood to discuss her _or_ her piano.

Stefan forged ahead, "I found an antique dealer in Fredericksburg who had one just like it in his shop. They delivered it this morning," he gestured toward the solarium.

Damon's brow creased as he walked cautiously into the other room. But when he saw the piece sitting there, he was brought back over a century. "You bought this?" he managed to say through the lump in his throat.

Stefan just nodded, hanging back by the doorway looking very hesitantly pleased with himself.

Damon slipped his fingers under the latch, revealing the ivory and ebony bars, highly polished. He pressed down on a key, filling the room with a solitary, discordant note.

"It still needs to be tuned, of course," Stefan said hurriedly. "But I'll help you, or I'll**—**" he was rushing through his words now, growing uneasy in Damon's silence, "I'll find someone who can do it."

"Mother knew how to," Damon mused, running his hand along the rich lacquer. "Her grandfather taught her back in Italy**—**in the opera houses."

He could see Stefan nod again in his peripheral vision. "I wish I'd known her better..." he said softly, voice thick.

Damon looked up to meet his brother's eyes. "So do I."

"You found it," Elena exclaimed happily as she entered the room, smiling broadly as she looked between them and the piano. Damon had been so distracted he hadn't even heard her enter the house. "Oh..." she sighed, running her hand along the smooth surface admiringly, "it's beautiful."

"You knew about this?" Damon raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"Alaric mentioned it," Elena was still smiling, now with a tinge of pride at having kept a secret. "Don't you like it?"

Damon nodded, turning once more to catch Stefan's eye. "I do," he turned back to Elena, though not before he caught the genuine smile of relief on Stefan's face. "Professor Fancypants like your term paper?" he asked her, smirking.

"Professor _Fancipe_," she mock-glared, "will let me know what he thinks in a few days. Until then, I'm free to distract myself."

Damon quirked an eyebrow, thinking just how _he'd_ like to distract her. But seeing as Stefan was still mere feet away, completely unaware of the changing dynamic between them, he would have to be satisfied with his imagination.

Still, it was gratifying to see the faintest blush creep into Elena's cheeks as she caught his eye. "So I thought I'd come help," she went on brightly.

"Help how..?" Stefan came fully into the room, arms crossed and forehead fixed into it's default brood.

"Give you some practical experience," she said matter-of-factly.

"Come again?" Damon spoke up as Stefan's frown deepened.

"You said he was going off the animals completely now, right?" Elena asked, as if her train of thought were obvious.

"I am _right _here, you know," Stefan offered mulishly.

"Sorry," Elena smiled apologetically. "I just meant now that _you_ aren't mixing blood sources anymore, the last step is ditching the blood bags."

"I'm _never_ ditching the blood bags," Stefan balked.

"Even I'm not ditching the blood bags anymore," Damon was distinctly put off by her overly chipper attitude. "Much…" he added in an undertone.

"It's not that I _want_ you to," Elena crossed her arms, "_either_ of you. But you can't tell me there might not be a day where you're in a bind—when your life might depend on it, even—or even just an unexpected temptation. If you start, you need to know how to stop—right?"

Damon narrowed his eyes—it wasn't that she didn't have a point, but he didn't like where this was going. "That's true…" he agreed slowly. "But hard to practice… _safely_…"

"So use me," Elena shrugged, jutting her chin out in an attempt at bravery.

"_No_," Damon and Stefan said simultaneously.

Elena seemed taken aback by the forcefulness of their reply. "No?" she repeated.

"No," Stefan confirmed, arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"Not on your life," Damon agreed, "which it could very well be—no offense, Stefan."

"None taken," Stefan replied evenly without taking his eyes off of Elena.

"Who knew it was so easy to find something you two agreed on?" Elena clicked her jaw, annoyed.

"Well _you_ should have, because it's a _stupid_ idea," Damon scoffed.

"It is not," she huffed, looking between them. "Stefan—you have to be able to do this. And you're not going to be able to try it on anyone else. Damon—you could stop him before he went too far, couldn't you?"

Damon started to reply but then shut his mouth tightly. "Nah uh," he wagged his finger, walking away pensively. "You are not a vampire lab rat."

"We're working on the control," Stefan said, shaking his head. "That should be enough for most things. And my life isn't worth the risk if it came to that."

"Stefan…" Elena breathed in an undertone. "Your life is worth at least _trying _this. And if you're not prepared, you might not be able to make the choice—as much as you've been able to deny yourself, this is part of the process, I know it is."

Stefan threw up his hands, walking away. "Maybe she'll listen to you," Stefan muttered as he passed Damon.

Damon looked into Elena's eyes and saw the resolve there. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew she was right about Stefan needing the practice—and the reassurance that he really could only take what he needed if he had to. Hell, Damon needed that reassurance before he set him loose on the unsuspecting public… He remembered all too well what Stefan was like with free reign and a lack of inhibitions.

Still, he had no desire for _Elena_ to be the test subject—he'd sooner drag Alaric over, at least, but that wouldn't likely go over well with Elena.

"Always so determined to sacrifice yourself first," he shook his head, looking at her sadly.

"You know I'm right, Damon," she took his hand where Stefan couldn't see it. "You won't let anything happen—it's just a… a lesson."

Damon tensed his jaw, letting out a deep breath. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right," he acquiesced at last. "This'll take some planning…"

* * *

"I can't believe you let her talk you into this," Stefan grumbled, rubbing his hands together nervously.

"When the lady's right, she's right," Damon sighed. "But I don't like it any more than you do."

"Well that's a relief," Stefan said archly, pacing back and forth through the library.

Damon just shook his head. They'd spent the last several hours in the woods, draining various animals within an inch of their lives until Damon was convinced Stefan could stop himself before it was too late. They spent their remaining time waiting for darkness to fall in the back yard—fighting. Even if it was meant to get Stefan's emotions heightened, Damon had to admit throwing a few supernaturally powered punches was a decent stress relief…

"Okay, I finished the last one," Elena said tiredly as she came downstairs. She'd been spending the afternoon watching a variety of horror and thriller films from Damon's collection, designed to put her nerves on edge. "I still don't think I'm going to be scared," she slumped onto the couch.

Damon hitched a shoulder—she might think she couldn't possibly be that scared of Stefan, but he could sense the trepidation in her voice even now. It was an unconscious response to the prospect of being hunted—no matter how controlled the environment. "I think you'd be surprised how persuasive the experience can be…"

"Oh, I'm familiar," she assured him darkly.

And of course, she was—after all, it wasn't exactly her first rodeo.

"I can compel you to be scared, if you'd rather," he offered.

"No, thanks," Elena touched her necklace instinctively.

"You'll still need to take that off," Damon reminded her gently. "If we want this to be as close to worst case scenario as possible."

Elena nodded reluctantly, unhitching the clasp and setting the necklace on the table.

"I still don't think this is such a good idea…" Stefan looked between them.

"Oh, it's probably a terrible idea," Damon agreed with mock cheer. "But I don't have a better one, so we're going to just have to make the best of it."

"_Right_," Stefan muttered under his breath.

Damon gave Elena one last appraising look—he wanted nothing more than to assure her that he'd be here the entire time, or that he was as sure that Stefan wouldn't hurt her as he was ever going to be. But of course, it would ruin the effect…

"Okay, well," Damon clapped his hands together. "I'd say we're ready for some role play—everyone's favorite therapeutic strategy. Elena, stay here… Stefan, do your worst…"

Stefan nodded, retreating to the parlor with Damon on his heels.

Stefan waited a few moments as the silence hung in the room where Elena sat reading, waiting. Damon watched as Stefan sped to turn out the lights in the room, one by one. Elena was trying not to look put out, but Damon could see the apprehension rising unintentionally to the surface.

She stood up and started to walk to the stairs, but Stefan met her there, fangs protruding. "Don't move," he said lowly, compelling her to the spot.

Damon knew it would have to harder than that if this was going to have any meaning, so he took the opening. He jabbed Stefan with a sizeable needle of vervain—not enough to knock him out, but enough to sting like the dickens.

"What the hell?" Stefan exclaimed, forgetting himself.

"Sorry little brother," Damon put on his best menacing grin, "but you have to _want_ this." He stepped between Stefan and Elena, turning to her in the briefest of seconds. "_Run_," he whispered urgently, releasing her from the compulsion.

She ran.

Damon blocked Stefan's way one last time, allowing his superior vision to guide his movements. He didn't fight Stefan too hard, allowing him to get the upper hand more than once—but he was sure to get in a few painful jabs with the stake up his sleeve. Just as he thought, the vampire in Stefan seemed to be growing restless—and irritated.

Damon finally allowed Stefan to pursue his target up the stairs, following surreptitiously in his wake.

Even if Stefan was moving stealthily, it was easy enough to follow Elena's heartbeat and the subtle sounds of her movements. Her heart might not have been racing, but there was a definite edge to the steady pulse. Rarely had Damon ever been the third party observer to the hunt, but this was enough to make him feel the cruelty of his vampiric nature—even if this time, it was staged.

Elena's heart had beat with terror in his ears on one too many occasion for it not to affect him…

She had barricaded herself in a back guest room, but she was waiting by the door, unsuspecting. Stefan still knew this house much better than she did, and she hadn't accounted for the old dumbwaiter shaft that led into the linen pantry in that room. Damon winced at her startled gasp as Stefan surprised her, but she knew she had to fight back and—Damon felt a swell of pride—she was damned resourceful.

There was a crash as Damon heard the old bed canopy clatter to the floor, and the heavy footfalls of Stefan stumbling backwards. She was out into the hall in an instant, not even seeing Damon as she fled onto the servants' stairs. Stefan was after her in an instant, and soon had forced her into the open.

It was all Damon could do to hang back in the shadows as they faced each other in a tense standoff. Stefan lunged for her, but she dodged left at the last second, swiping a lit candle off the table and throwing it in Stefan's direction. The flame caught hold of his jacket, and by the time he had it off she had made a run for the door.

The only problem was that Stefan blocked the exit into the house, leaving Elena no other option but to make a break for the woods.

Damon knew she wouldn't last long out there…

Stefan walked cautiously out under the waning moonlight. Elena had stopped running somewhere ahead—Damon could hear her heart beat faintly thumping from behind a copse of trees. Still, it was difficult to pinpoint which one.

As Stefan made his way towards her, he brought the fog with him, a cool mist hugging the ground and refracting the white-blue light overhead. It was enough to make Elena's pulse quicken, and Stefan had soon triangulated her hiding place behind a towering elm.

It didn't stop Elena from hefting a broken branch into Stefan's side as he sped in front of her, but he was too fast. Her throat was in his teeth in a flash, only the slightest hesitation hitching into the movement.

Elena resisted instinctually, but she was quickly growing limp. Damon itched to intervene, as the mere seconds it could take Stefan to drain her blood felt like hours spent in agony. But Damon _wouldn't_ be doing this again, and if he moved in too soon, this whole exercise would be all for naught.

She was close now—just on the edge of _too _much lost, _too_ _far gone_, and she couldn't have fought Stefan if she'd wanted to. For one horrible moment, Damon was afraid Stefan was too caught up in the intoxicating sensation of human blood fresh from the source to recognize the signs as they'd practiced. Yet just as Damon was about to throw them apart, lesson be damned, Stefan pulled his head back, coughing as he settled his features.

Damon was there as Elena slipped away from Stefan's grasp, cradling her in his arms as her knees buckled. Damon had his own wrist open in seconds, holding it firmly to her mouth. It was a testament to just how much she'd lost that she accepted his blood without argument or protest.

The color slowly returned to her cheeks, and Damon felt the stranglehold grip in his chest slacken slightly.

"Is she okay?" Stefan rasped, wiping his mouth hastily. There was a curious look in his eyes, Damon noticed—an indecipherable mixture of unbridled guilt and unwanted satisfaction. Damon knew that in some ways, this was the hardest test Stefan could have faced—the love his brother must still feel for Elena would only make it more difficult to resist the allure of her blood. If he could pull himself away from _that_, he must have learned something after all.

Damon didn't answer right away, eyes too intent on Elena as she regained consciousness. She looked up at him searchingly, struggling to regain her own balance. "Hey…" he murmured, "how do you feel?"

"Mmm…" Elena shook her head, tight-lipped, still undeniably pale. "I've felt better…"

She was using him to hold herself up, but he also felt he was being kept at arms-length. There was a residual terror in her eyes as she looked at Stefan, as if she'd never really let herself see what either of them was capable of.

"Did I take too much?" Stefan asked worriedly.

Elena looked uncertain, but Damon answered for her. "It would've been a longer recovery without my supernatural assist," he admitted, "but I'd say you did reasonably well…"

Stefan nodded, still watching Elena carefully.

"I'm just a little shell-shocked, that's all," she tried for a reassuring smile, though it faltered slightly on her lips.

"I wish you hadn't… hadn't…" Stefan started, hanging his head, unable to finish the sentence.

"You needed to know you could do it," she said more firmly than her composure suggested possible. "To know you could trust yourself," she added, softer. "I wanted to help you get there."

Stefan nodded again, gratitude and more than a little regret shining in his eyes that Damon suspected stemmed from more than this evening alone. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his fingers brushing ruefully against the back of her hand as he cut a meandering path back toward the Boarding House.

Elena watched him go, her expression softening. As soon as Stefan was out of range, she collapsed into Damon's arms, obviously having expended considerable energy to keep herself standing.

Damon sank slowly with her to the ground, hesitating to do more until she burrowed into him, head against his shoulder and hand clutching to his shirt. He pulled her into him, rocking slowly back and forth until he could feel her heart beating strong and sure against his chest.

"Sometimes I forget…" she whispered into the silence.

Damon steeled himself for her next words, whatever they might be, wherever they might lead. When they started this exercise, he hadn't even considered how it might remind her of the monster Stefan could be—that Damon himself could be. He didn't think he could stand to see that fear in her eyes whenever she looked at him. "Forget what?" he asked evenly.

"I forget how much you both are fighting every day," she said quietly. "How hard it must be…"

Damon let out a slow breath, marveling at her capacity for compassion and sympathy. Simulating reality had been the whole point, and it was only natural that her adrenaline would kick in, that her fight or flight response was there to serve as a subconscious urge for survival outside the bounds of rational thought. Although she might have been understandably shaken by the experience of being hunted, drained, Damon now realized that the fear in her eyes was less a fear _of_ them than it was _for _them. "It can't have been much fun for you," he pointed out, glossing over in his mind the many victims who hadn't seen the happy ending she had.

"No…" she agreed. "But coming that close—I could feel how much he _wanted_ that, _needed_ what I was giving him—more than just the blood, it was…" she stopped, struggling for the right word.

"A promise," Damon supplied, "a promise that never gets fulfilled."

Elena nodded. "How do you withstand that?" she asked, voice small.

"Holding onto the truth," Damon answered. "Even when it's painful."

Elena was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry…" she looked up at him "I'm sorry it has to hurt so much."

Damon looked down at her thoughtfully. "You gave him a good truth to hold onto, Elena," he told her.

"I'm not so sure," she whispered.

"I am," Damon assured her, recognizing that even if Stefan knew he had lost her, knowing that she still cared enough to give him this peace of mind would be priceless to his brother. Knowing that he could begin to move forward again, finally step out from behind the never-distant fear of losing control was more than Stefan had ever truly expected to achieve.

Damon understood this because _she_ was the truth he held onto every time he felt the vampire start to break down his own defenses, _she_ was the only truth that ever mattered. He had plenty of reasons to hold himself together, in check—but none so pure and simple as her. Even if he never saw her again, she'd leave the truth of her belief in him behind.

He settled a kiss on her forehead, a silent thank you for being that truth even when he had no right to expect or claim it.

But she was there all the same.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks again for reading! If you have the time and inclination, reviews always make my day :)**


	27. Threshold

**Author's Note: Well, we're going to keep moving along apace—full-tilt towards the last few chapters of this story. I really had wanted to get this posted by Wednesday at the latest, but it's been a hectic week and I just couldn't get it where I wanted it to be. Still not sure it's up to snuff, but we'll give it a go anyhow. (By the by, in case it's somehow unclear, this chapter makes references to the events of _Rose_.)**

**I know the previous chapter was a bit controversial with some of you—and I tried to offer some of my reasoning to those reviewers I could respond to—but regardless I hope some of the developments in this installment will make up for any ill feeling... ;)**

**As a side note, (very minor SPOILERS for _Know Thy Enemy_) I really had to laugh when the brothers gave Elena the deed to the Boarding House. Obviously a somewhat different context, and this story is a touch AU by virtue of writing the future at mid-season, but still—spookily (and hilariously) familiar. (If you're wondering what the hell I'm going on about, take a gander at chapter eight... ;) )**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Twenty-seven: Threshold_**

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea..?" Alaric muttered under his breath.

"If you keep asking me that, they really are going to hear you," Damon nodded to where Stefan and Jeremy were loading the trunk outside. "And for the umpteenth time, _yes_, I think it's a brilliant idea—aren't they always?" he smirked.

"I'm going to go with _no _on that one," Alaric answered without hesitation.

Damon clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Unclench, would you? As best man, I will not have you in a tizzy at your own bachelor party." When Alaric still looked unconvinced, Damon heaved a put-upon sigh. "First of all, Stefan needs to get out of this house sometime—and for my own sanity I'd like it to be sooner than later. Second, he's really doing much better since that last little... _transgression_."

"Yea, about that—you never said—" Ric started to interject.

"Alaric Saltzman, didn't your mother ever teach you it's not polite to interrupt?" Damon said with just the hint of measured annoyance. "As I was saying, things are looking up—for once. There will already be plenty of alcohol around to keep his hunger in check. Plus, what better excuse to have you, Jeremy, _and_me around if by some horrible stroke of luck, something goes wrong?"

Alaric nodded, still frowning a bit, but downed the rest of his drink with a purpose. "Are you at least going to tell me where we're going?"

"Nope," Damon snatched Ric's keys with a crooked grin. Alaric followed him out to the drive somewhat begrudgingly.

This was going to be _fun_.

"Extra blood and vervain are in the back," Jeremy muttered as he passed Damon en route to the backseat. Damon nodded, eyes on the man emerging tentatively from a banged up red Jetta.

"Fred, glad you could make it," Alaric greeted the man with a too-wide smile.

"Damon Salvatore," Damon extended his hand. Damon was convinced Alaric had only invited Frederick Harrison to prove he had _living_friends, but he wasn't above being the gracious host.

"Yes," Fred smiled nervously. "I remember... So many school functions… Jeremy, Stefan," he nodded over Damon's shoulder, "nice to see you both again."

"Mr. Harrison," Jeremy ducked his head in the universal sign of a poor student greeting a former teacher. Stefan just nodded with a half-hearted smile.

Damon was going to have to work on that... Maybe this was going to be more work than fun.

_Damn them._

* * *

Damon couldn't say whether Fred was your stereotypically self-conscious math geek, or he sensed something unnatural in his companions, but the man was still looking nervous as Damon handed the valet the keys. This one, Damon saw, was going to take some work—or perhaps, if he got lazy or desperate, some compelling.

Of course, going to a bachelor party with two former students an hour and a half from home... Well, it probably didn't help.

"Good evening Mr. Salvatore," a pretty young woman greeted them at the door. "We have a table waiting for you an your guests in the back."

"Come here often?" Jeremy quipped with a snarkily raised eyebrow.

"Don't be such a twerp, and be glad I brought you along," Damon narrowed his eyes.

"Damon..." Stefan asked slowly, looking around, "is this what I think it is..?"

"Only if you think it's the most exclusive club I could belong to," Damon said carefully—though he thought he said enough to confirm Stefan's suspicions. "Maybe _you'll_ join now, hmm? Or are you still planning to be a killjoy?"

Really, they were lucky this little traveling circus of supernatural depravity had set up shop near Mystic Falls so close in time to the wedding. Surrounded by people with a great deal of expendable energy for a self-indulgence, and with very few inhibitions—it was the best way Damon knew to send Alaric out of bachelorhood.

"And just how many of these patrons are vampires?" Ric asked in an urgent undertone as they were shown to their table.

Damon smirked at how quickly his friend caught on. "At least half," Damon shrugged, nonchalant. "Guests _and_staff, in case you were wondering. The venue moves around, but there's always a need for a good time, great money, and a no-explanation-necessary environment."

"What about Fred?" Alaric asked pointedly, as his friend blushed furiously under the careful attentions of their scantily—if tastefully—clad waitress.

"Humans are welcome, too," Damon grinned. "The idea is to let yourself _go_a little. But don't worry—there's a strictly and brutally enforced no killing policy—bad for business."

"Right..." Ric sighed resignedly, downing his first shot with a wince.

By the time they'd made it through their eleventh round, though, not even Stefan could be found with a frown.

As the clock struck two o'clock in the morning, Damon congratulated himself on a successful evening. He surveyed his party with satisfaction—Fred winning his fourth game of poker, Jeremy in the corner with a handsy blond (undead or otherwise, Damon wasn't sure), Alaric losing miserably at pool with a pair of twins and not caring a whit, and Stefan (of all people) leading the way on the dance floor.

Damon smirked, wishing he had a camera—as it was, no one was going to believe him.

For his part, Damon accepted a _truly_Bloody Mary from the waitress with a trademark smile, unable to stop himself from imagining she was Elena instead.

She'd been on his mind all night—though Elena was never far from his thoughts anyhow, truth be told. Still, being here was a reminder of the life he used to lead—a life he had never expected to give up, even if he'd wanted to. Yet somehow, the prospect no longer seemed so abstract...

"Whatch' sittin' o'er here for?" Stefan slurred as he plopped down in the booth. "You doin' me 'gain? Isss this your Stefan impression?" he grinned lazily, bumping Damon in the shoulder. "That mean I'm _you_?" he tried for a drunken approximation of the infamous eye thing.

"Yes, little brother, you get to be me for the evening—a temporary upgrade, if you ask me," Damon nodded to the dance floor, "now get back out there and don't ruin my reputation."

Damon downed the rest of his drink as Stefan staggered off amiably. He knew he really should tell his brother what was going on with Elena. Yet Damon had a hard enough time wrapping his own head around the idea that there was something _so tangible_between them—he didn't know if he was ready to deal with Stefan's judgment or anger or whatever might arise.

Still, as they came up on two weeks of sneaking around and stealing kisses, keeping everyone ignorant of any change, Damon was starting to feel as though this might all be one cruel dream...

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

He and Elena had passed the buck a few times too many. 'He's your brother' and 'he's _your_ex' were apparently inexhaustible arguments.

But to Damon, at least, it just never seemed like the right time. For all his love of the twists and turns of language, he could never find the right words. Maybe it seemed too serious, 'Stefan, we need to talk,'—too doom and gloom of an approach for something Damon just wanted to be happy about.

Couldn't having what he wanted just be easy for _once_?

And yet… Seeing Stefan actually enjoying himself—even if he had to get absolutely hammered to do it—was surprisingly... _touching_.

Damon could blame the desire for validation after the past few months, or even a sentiment of brotherly affection too deeply ingrained to completely eradicate or ignore. Regardless of the reason, Damon was forced to come to the startling revelation that at the root of it all, he actually didn't want to hurt his brother.

He may have always protected Stefan in his own manner, but he'd made sure to torture him with misery along the way. Yet now, given with the opportunity to really twist the knife... It no longer seemed so attractive.

* * *

Elena tapped her foot against the coffee table pensively. She really should be in bed. She probably should be in her _own_bed. But instead she's here.

At the Boarding House.

In the middle of the night.

_Wide awake.  
_  
Elena has had her keys in her hand, fingers on the doorknob, foot on the threshold, more than once tonight. And yet she always returns to her inexplicable vigil on the couch.

She's not sure why she feels the need to wait up for them—why she feels she has the right to stay here until they get home. True, she's started staying at the Boarding House more often again—firmly ensconced in a guest bedroom under the guise of being around to help Stefan and the fact that she did technically own the place.

But how many times had she wandered down the hall? Been poised on the edge of opening Damon's door, plunging into the abyss?

Maybe that was why she was here now—even though there was no reason for her to be, with both of them off celebrating the impending nuptials with the groom-to-be. Maybe some twisted part of herself missed the test of self-control, the feeling of anticipation, the knowledge that Damon could probably hear her heart pounding on the other side of his door.

She was afraid he was starting to think she didn't _want_ to tell Stefan—tell everyone—that there was something going on between them. That somehow he'd get it into his head that she was hesitating because she thought she'd made a mistake somehow, that this was _wrong_.

If only she could make him believe that nothing ever felt more _right_.

But, she supposed, he was stubborn that way.

She just didn't want anyone to get hurt, to feel betrayed—to mess something up between Damon and Stefan when they had finally started to fix what had broken between them.

She was tired of being the reason everyone suffered.

Keys in the door broke her from her reverie. She bolted to her feet, suddenly feeling very silly and wondering if there was any way she could make it upstairs before they noticed.

Of course, there was little chance of that.

Damon looked at her curiously as they entered, glancing at his watch.

"Ellll…lena..." Stefan slurred with heavy eyelids and a lopsided smile, obviously drunk. "'Lena's here, Damon. Wha's 'Lena doin' here?"

"I don't know, Stefan," Damon said as he shifted his support to his brother's shoulders, guiding his stumbling steps. "Let's just get you to bed before I lose patience and take a lighter to you, hmm?"

Damon shot another confused glance at Elena before shoving a happily muttering Stefan up the stairs.

Just to make herself do something, enact some pretense for her lack of sleep, she wandered into the kitchen.

"I know you're not looking for a glass of warm milk," Damon drawled as he came up behind her, kissing her temple.

"Guilty," Elena turned into him, looking up with an attempt at a sly grin. "Did you boys have fun..?"

"With me as their guide to drunken debauchery?" Damon cocked an eyebrow, stepping away with a guarded shade to his otherwise impish expression. "How could they not?"

"I guess you got Stefan to loosen up," Elena stood around the other side of the island.

"Some people just can't hold their liquor," Damon intoned as he poured himself a glass of bourbon, offering her a second. "I do believe my dear brother is down for the count."

Elena let out a hesitant chuckle that felt more like a desperate cough in her throat as she took a cautious sip of the amber liquid swirling in the proffered glass.

It did little to calm her electrified nerves.

She felt as though she was waiting for something, expecting _something_, and her body was one step ahead of her, chest tight and stomach aflutter. Whether her intuition was preparing her from something good or bad, she couldn't quite tell.

Damon took the seat opposite her with an appraising look. "Maybe you should go to bed yourself…"

"No!" Elena hiccoughed over her next sip. "I mean… no," she said more calmly with an embarrassed smile. "I can't sleep, I…" she trailed off.

_Oh, Elena… what are you doing?_

She was already drunk with exhaustion and that inexplicable feeling of anticipation, the pressure of keeping something so important a secret, the sense of hidden words couched between their every interaction.

"Let's…" she wracked her brain for some excuse, some reason to keep him talking to her. "Let's play truth or dare!" she hit upon the first thing that came to mind.

"What are we, in the eighth grade?" Damon teased.

"Oh, come on," Elena wheedled. "It'll be fun."

"Mmhmm…" Damon took another healthy sip of bourbon skeptically. "Fine then, _dare_."

Elena's smile faltered, realizing she probably _hadn't_ played this game since she was thirteen. "Umm…" she fumbled, feeling like a hapless schoolgirl—and trying to keep up a pretense with Damon was like playing with matches she had no business handling. "Ah," she said, triumphantly, "_take off an article of clothing_."

Damon laughed one, short, mischievous laugh. "That's not even _specific_," Damon smirked at her. "Though I do like where your mind is."

She narrowed her eyes at him with annoyance. "Your shirt, then," she waved a hand dismissively, "and I _dare_ you to do better."

"Oooh, _puns_," Damon drawled with a flash of teeth as he pulled the black v-neck over his head. From where Elena was sitting, it certainly wasn't a _bad_ dare… "Well then, Miss Gilbert, I dare you to close your eyes—and keep them closed."

Elena sat up straighter, brow furrowed. "Close my eyes?" she repeated, not sure what to make of the glimmer in his eyes.

"That's the dare, Elena," Damon crossed his arms patiently.

With one last look, Elena obliged. Nothing happened for a moment, and then there was a whisper of a breeze along the back of her neck. It sent her hair fluttering, and goosebumps trailing down her arms. The breeze seemed to encircle her, curiously warm—a touch as gentle and intricate as lace caressing her skin. She had the feeling of Damon's fingers hovering just above her, moving too fast for her to process anything other than heady, pleasant ache of expectation.

She opened her eyes again to see him sitting across from her once more. She closed her slackened jaw with a heavy swallow as he smirked proudly. "Your turn," she managed to say, unwilling to give him the satisfaction, even if her reaction was etched into her every pore.

"Dare," he continued to smirk.

"Close _your_ eyes," she said simply, hands on her hips.

"Seriously, you can't even come up with your own dare?" he asked, still grinning smugly.

"I don't think you'll want to object," she bit her lip, lack of sleep and hard liquor making her braver than she felt.

Damon begrudgingly gave in, eyes closing with a small huff. Elena swung herself carefully across the island to where she could land gently, straddling his legs. Her hands ran over the chiseled form of his exposed muscles, exploring every dip and valley as she leaned closer. Her lips where mere millimeters from his—and she knew he could sense her every move, could tell she was _right _within reach. Then she turned and nipped sensuously at his ear, lifting herself back onto the edge of the island, legs dangling on either side of him.

"You're such a tease," he said thickly, his hands running up over her thighs.

Elena just grinned, pleased to give as good as she got. "_Dare_."

Damon paused, looking thoughtfully up at her from his stool. "Take _that_ off," he pointed at her vervain pendant.

"My necklace?" she asked, surprised. "Does it bother you that I still wear it?"

"Did I ask for a 'truth'?" Damon quirked his jaw darkly.

Elena slipped the clasp and set the chain and pendant on the counter. In truth, wearing it had become more practical habit than sentimental remembrance, but she hadn't expected Damon to think much of it.

"It _is_ your turn," she reminded him.

Damon leaned back in his chair precariously. "I know you'll just keep asking anyway, so make your one free question count. Truth."

Elena had no doubt that she could get more out of him than one question, but she nonetheless considered her next one carefully. "Do you look at this necklace," she held it up between them, "and think of Stefan—of me and Stefan together?"

A cloud passed over Damon's face, his head tilting slightly, sadly. "That… and other things," he said heavily, not bothering to elaborate. "Your turn."

Elena sighed, still wanting a more straightforward answer. "Truth."

"Why aren't we telling Stefan about us?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

Now she knew he was deflecting, but it was a valid question—the one that had been hanging between them for some time now. "I don't know…"

"Not good enough," his jaw quirked again.

"Would you let me finish?" Elena's frustration spiked. Damon gestured towards her obligingly. "I don't know why…" she began again. "But I know I don't want him to come between us. We're not about _him_, not to me."

Damon nodded, looking away. "But there he is, smack-dab in the middle."

"He's going to be until we just _tell_ him," Elena said, though she suspected she still lacked the resolve to act on her own words.

"There's no way I tell him without coming off like an ass," Damon crossed his arm.

"And you think it sounds so much better coming from me?" Elena mimicked his attitude.

"So we'll tell him together," Damon said firmly, if a bit challengingly.

"Okay," Elena nodded, feeling a slight weight lift off of her chest. "I just wish I knew how he'd react…"

Damon snorted. "And isn't that the problem?" he grimaced, obviously growing tired of walking on eggshells, of taking pains to protect his brother's heart at the expense of his own. It might be driving him crazy, but the fact that he would do it made Elena's own heart swell with pride and affection. "If only I could just compel him listen to us… just so he would hear it, just _once_," he muttered darkly.

Elena's eyes fell on her discarded necklace, his words stirring something deep inside her. It was something that had prodded her before—something she'd always managed to brush away… "Would you really do that, if you could?" she asked quietly, inexplicably afraid of what his answer might hold for a reason that she instinctively knew had little to do with Stefan.

Damon looked at her for a long beat. "It would be tempting," he admitted with a raised brow. "But no. It wouldn't help him—not really."

The notion that he really wouldn't use that power indiscriminately… Elena could feel her heart starting to race, a nervous energy she couldn't explain. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of her necklace again, and she knew she had to ask. "Would you ever compel me?" she asked, voice small.

Something in Damon's eyes flickered, but his features remained impassive. "Why would you ask that?" his voice deceptively even.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I just…" she looked again at her necklace, grasping at something just out of reach. "Answer my question, please," she held his gaze, fighting to keep the apprehension from her voice.

"I did… once," he said, painstakingly slow, though he didn't look away.

"Why?" Elena sputtered, feeling that uneasy energy bubbling in her throat. "_How?_"

"It isn't what you think," Damon pushed away from the island.

"And what do I think?" her voice was growing thin, high, her legs hanging stiffly over the edge of the counter.

"It was selfish of me…" he swallowed hard. "What else is new?" he added under his breath.

There was that recognition again, that feeling of fearful familiarity that she couldn't place. "You haven't been selfish, not with me," she said, reassuring him as much as herself, "not in a long time."

The silence stretched between them, their gaze a conduit for so many unsaid words, innumerable and unnamable emotions.

"Tell me," she demanded, biting her lip in spite of herself.

Damon shook his head.

"Damon…" Elena said warningly. "Don't do that, we've come too far."

He swallowed again, taking a long pull from his glass. "It would be easier to show you…"

Elena nodded and he stepped towards her, stopping short of making any contact. Elena felt that strange sensation, a foreign finger dipping into her mind as his eyes locked on hers.

And then it all came rushing back.

That night in her room, her necklace, his words—about Stefan, about worth, about selfishness… her silence, his single tear more moving than a deluge as he made her forget…

But even stronger were the buried emotions that came rising to the surface, potent remnants of those lost moments. She remembered her fear, her pain, her guilt, her confusion.

And she remembered that bitter, soul-crushing regret that she couldn't give him the answer that he wanted. Because he loved her, and she… she wasn't ready, she was with his brother, she was helpless in the face of such intensity.

But he _loved _her.

The kitchen came back into focus as Elena realized she'd closed her eyes. Damon was behind her now, looking into the early, pre-morning light as it erased the indecipherable darkness.

"How could you do that?" she asked softly. Whether she was asking how he could have compelled her, how he could have put either of them in that position, how he could have lived with those feelings inside of him all these years, she wasn't sure—maybe she was asking everything. Maybe nothing. Maybe it didn't even matter.

"I told you, I was selfish," he answered, barely audible.

"No…" she whispered, coming to stand behind him but afraid to reach out, sensing the uneasy power radiating off of him. If it was selfish, it was a poor attempt—he was the only one that ended up getting hurt. "Do you still feel that way?" she asked tentatively.

He turned towards her, expression hardened. "I still don't deserve you, I still can't let myself be selfish with you…"

"And?" she pressed gently, hoping he knew he wouldn't be greeted with silence this time, that he didn't have to hide or lie or protect himself so fiercely. She wanted to hear it, to let him say it, to have it be real and not something they had to ignore or forget.

On some level, some innate, subconscious level, _this_ was what she'd been waiting for.

Certainty…

And love.

He looked at her long and hard, searching for the assurance he craved. "And I still love you," Damon whispered the confession, voice thick.

The words held so much more weight here in the present, so much more meaning after all they'd been through, so much more possibility now that she was free to let them blossom deep within her heart.

She felt the smile creeping wide and unfettered across her features, saw how it began to chip away at the storminess in the blue depths of his eyes. She reached up, tracing the lines of worry, erasing them tenderly as she went. On the tips of her toes, she placed a feather-light kiss to his lips, pulling back to look in his eyes once more. "Never think for a _second_," she whispered fiercely, "that I don't love you, too."

For a moment he just stared at her, his thumb sliding gently across her cheek with disbelief edging reverent adoration, before the spark in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

And if it hadn't—the kiss he pressed to her lips would have done the trick.

Elena was quickly backed against the counter, hopping on top of it as her legs wrapped around his waist, both of their hands roving hungrily. As close as she could get wasn't close enough.

Not by a long shot.

A low moan escaped her throat as Damon's hands followed her every contour, his tongue dancing in time with her own. He practically growled as she responded in kind, bringing her hips forward so that he was supporting her weight.

They were moving through rooms now in spurts of speed, shirts and jeans abandoned haphazardly as they went. A last blur of color and sound and they were in his bed, crashing onto the sheets with reckless abandon.

Damon graced her with a wicked smirk as she nodded, running her hands down his sides with the last seal of permission. Elena was at once hypnotized and full of fire, her heart beating out an anthem in her chest as their fingers clasped tightly together.

Her toes curled under as the first rays of dawn pierced the rarified air, giving light to the purest expression of love Elena had ever experienced.

* * *

**A/N: So I had to try and keep it within the rating, of course, but I trust you all can use your imaginations… ;)**

**Did I mention you guys rock my socks off with the reviews? I never would have thought this story would see the 400 mark come and go. I really appreciate all of your compliments, constructive criticism, and encouragement—I hope you'll keep it coming!**


	28. Steps Flown Freely, Steps Well Guarded

**Author's Note: Ah, well—you know I get to this as soon as I possibly can... It's been a rough couple of weeks, not to mention the writer's block I had on certain segments of this chapter (particularly in trying to reconcile it in my mind with recent episodes). Nevertheless, we press on! This installment brings you a side dish of fluff with the somewhat more angsty main course—hope you'll enjoy..!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Twenty-eight: Steps Flown Freely, Steps Well Guarded_**

* * *

Elena woke slowly, a lazy smile stretching across her features. She let the bright midday sun warm her cheeks as she stretched, feeling the soft, cool cotton sheets shift against her bare skin.

Her smile widened as her movements caused the hand splayed across her stomach to instinctively coil around her waist, pulling her towards its owner possessively. She turned in time to see those sparkling blue depths open to her, instantly alight with happiness, satisfaction, and more than a little desire.

"Good morning," Damon murmured huskily, a salty grin making her blush.

"Good afternoon," she corrected, glancing at the clock over his shoulder.

"Sleep well?" he propped his head up in one hand, following a trail down her arm with the other.

"Mmmhmmm..." she smiled, shifting into his touch. "Last night was..." she trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"Amazing? Mind-blowing? Best you ever had?" Damon supplied readily with a cheeky raise of his eyebrow.

"Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" Elena quipped. "What if I said it was horrendously awful?" she added, though of course it wasn't it. In fact, his choice of words weren't far off from the truth.

"Then I'd say you were lying," Damon reasoned.

"And you'd know this how?" Elena smiled, going along—they were good when they were challenging each other, even in jest.

"I _was_ there," Damon smiled suggestively.

"I remember..." Elena leaned into him, heart beating faster at the memory. She remembered Caroline once telling her that making love to a vampire was somehow _different_—but Elena had never quite understood what she meant, suspecting Stefan—_being Stefan_—had always held that part of himself back. But after last night... Well, she was no longer left wondering.

Though Elena wondered if maybe it was just Damon that was different, if _she_ was different with him, if they were different together. Just laying here, even, wrapped up in his bed and his easy smile—she _felt_ different. Her past experience—however limited—told her that this first morning after should be just a tad nerve-wracking, should send those tell-tale little butterflies fluttering through her stomach to sow the seeds of _what next?_ and _what is he thinking?_ And with _Damon_, who had made her nervous in one way or another since the day she had met him, it seemed like a given.

But the nerves never came, and Elena had never felt more comfortable or at peace or sure of herself.

It defied all logic, but there it was.

"Last night was just... It was _right_," she amended at last.

He smiled at her—a genuine smile with no agenda—as he covered the hand she held over her heart with his own. The sweet, lingering kiss he pressed to her lips proclaimed his agreement more strongly than any words could.

"Go take a shower," he suggested as their lips parted. "I'll make us some lunch."

Elena sighed, rolling away from him reluctantly. She pulled the crisp white sheet around her as she stood, stooping to place one last brief kiss to his cheek.

But he reached out at the last second as she walked away, the sheet falling to the floor at her feet.

"For once I'm going to enjoy watching you walk away," he smirked deviously when she shot a quizzical grin over her shoulder.

So Elena sashayed forward, a blushing half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

* * *

Damon smirked as Elena tilted her hips seductively on her way to his shower. It was all he could do not to follow her in...

But there would be time enough for that. For now, he could still feel her warmth lingering in the bed—could still detect her scent on his skin. It was _intoxicating_. And he still found all of this somehow incredible, that it hadn't been some sort of mistake.

He supposed disbelief was natural when you spent over a century with very few things going your way.

But he would've spent another century eking out an unfulfilling existence if it meant that Elena was waiting for him at the end of it.

Because _damn_. That girl... She did things to him that scared him to death, but he was starting to realize how lost he would be without her.

As the water started running, he pulled himself out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a dull thud. He pulled on a pair of pants and an Oxford, listening closely at Stefan's door on his way downstairs. But his brother appeared to be sleeping off the previous night's escapades, none the wiser to what had transpired only a few rooms away.

Damon picked up discarded pieces of clothing as he went, straightening lampshades that he found askew and shifting a vase back into place—all the while smiling unapologetically at the fresh, heady memories of how they'd gotten there.

* * *

Elena was just finishing off her frittata when Stefan emerged into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

For someone who healed instantly and was graced with immortality, he looked more than a little the worse for wear.

"Want some?" she asked with a sympathetic wince, fork pointing at her plate.

"No..." Stefan paled. Damon silently offered a fresh glass of blood instead. "Thanks," Stefan mumbled, plopping down on an empty barstool. "How long was I out?"

"Eight, maybe nine hours?" Damon shrugged.

"God... Why'd you let me drink so much last night? I acted like a _complete_ idiot..." Stefan groaned, the glare he threw at his brother half-hearted at best.

"So what else is new? It was good for you, trust me," Damon dismissed him, stealing the last bite off of Elena's plate with a devilish grin.

"Umm... Now that you're up, though..." Elena began hesitantly, trying to remind herself that having this conversation with Stefan—telling him what was going on with Damon—it wasn't going to get any easier, and it wasn't fair to any of them to keep putting it off. "We, umm..." she looked to Damon for help.

Just because pulling off a Band-Aid was quick didn't mean it couldn't still sting like hell.

"There's something we wanted to talk to you about," Damon finished for her, voice serious.

Stefan looked between them curiously, a look of disbelieving comprehension dawning on his face. "Something _is_ different between you," he said, almost to himself—like a detective finally seeing the missing link. "Are you..?" he trailed off, looking—if possible—even more green.

"Well..." Elena shifted in her seat.

Why did this have to be so _hard_?

"_Are you?_" Stefan repeated, a dangerous edge to his voice as his eyes widened slightly.

"We've been…" Elena looked to Damon again, trying to figure out what exactly they were, what they'd become, what they'd been doing these past few days. It was something beyond easily definable terms. To say _dating_ or _boyfriend_ or _seeing each other_ felt incomplete somehow. "We're together," she said simply, firmly, taking Damon's hand behind the cabinet.

Stefan's glass clattered on the granite surface of the counter as it slipped the last inch out of his hand. The ringing echo filled the room for a moment, and nobody spoke.

"When?" Stefan spoke at last, his tone deceptively even. "For how long?"

"Almost two weeks, give or take," Damon supplied. Elena could see he was watching his brother carefully.

"And you just decided to tell me now?" he stood suddenly, the barstool skidding with a hideous screech against the floor. "What? Was it getting too hard to sneak around? Would it be easier if I just left? Got out of your hair?"

"Stefan…" Elena sighed, trying to stay calm. "We've been trying to figure it out ourselves—and we've been _trying_ to tell you, honestly."

"Obviously not hard enough," Stefan eyebrows knitted together in an expression of hurt and anger. "You're awfully quiet," he rounded on Damon.

"Just waiting for the tantrum to really kick in," Damon crossed his arms over his chest, feigning disinterest.

"Oh, right, of course, you think I'm being childish," Stefan scoffed sarcastically. "Because messing around with my ex-girlfriend behind my back is _so_ mature."

"_Excuse me_," Elena found herself standing now, too. "We are not _messing_ _around_," she spat out. "And we _are_ trying to talk to you."

"I really don't want to hear it," Stefan held up a hand, shaking his head disgustedly. "I really just… I don't." And with that, he walked out.

"That went well…" Damon muttered, but Elena was already striding toward the door.

"Just let him cool off," Damon sped after her, blocking her path.

"_No_," Elena set her jaw. "I am _not_ living through this again—we are going to talk about this, and you two are going to come out of this without me in the middle."

Elena stared him down fiercely, but she didn't need him to tell her that he thought that unlikely—she was always in the middle when it came to the Salvatore brothers; now she was just on the other side of the rope.

"No," she shook her head again, pushing past him, feeling her frustration fuel the confidence and certainty she'd fumbled through before. "He's going to deal with this now or not at all."

* * *

"Stefan..?" Elena cautiously poked her head around his door. Just because she was determined—and more than a little annoyed—didn't mean she wasn't aware of the mood Stefan was in.

"Elena, I really don't think I want to talk about it," Stefan spoke from the window.

"Well that's just too bad," Elena crossed her arms.

"Why are you pushing this?" Stefan turned towards her, expression pained. "Don't you understand why this would bother me?"

"I understand why this is hard for all of us," Elena sighed. "I understand why it would be strange for you to see me with someone else, especially Damon. But do _you_ understand that that's how he's felt for the past three years?"

"It's no secret that he's been in love with you—I never felt great about that either, if you'll recall," Stefan countered.

"He's been _in_ love with me for years, yes," Elena agreed—it still sent a dichotomous chill of guilt and happiness down her spine. "And he has stayed here, stayed around _us_, with little hope of me ever returning those feelings."

There was a heavily pregnant pause. "And do you? Do you love him?" Stefan asked quietly.

"Yes," Elena answered, equally quiet but without hesitation.

Stefan looked away again. "I always knew you cared about him... but..."

"Stefan," Elena took a step forward, "I have cared about him—but when I was with you I loved _you_. I didn't lie to you about that. But you and I had our chance, and it led us down different paths."

"And yours led you to Damon," Stefan muttered darkly. "After everything he's done... I know I never deserved you, but..."

Elena bristled. "You know he actually disagrees with you? _He_ still doesn't think I should be with him—he once tried to make sure I'd stay with _you_, actually. But you know what? I've seen both of you at your worst and I'm still putting my faith in you, in _both_ of you. I haven't wavered from that decision."

Stefan shook his head again, but she'd seen the almost imperceptible change in his features. He really had no idea how much Damon had given up for them.

Though, she supposed, it was easy to miss when the brothers were so good at antagonizing each other on the surface.

"What do you want me to say, Elena?" Stefan leaned against the window sill. "It's hard to look past everything that's happened between Damon and me, especially when it wasn't so long ago that I thought you and I had a future together."

"I know..." Elena whispered. "But I'm just your ex-girlfriend. He's your _brother_, Stefan."

"You'll never be _just_ an ex-girlfriend to me," Stefan said sorrowfully.

"Maybe not," Elena allowed. "But I will _not_ be the cause of another 100 years of misery between you two."

Stefan quirked his jaw, looking at her intently. "Will you turn for him?" he asked, voice low.

Elena frowned, surprised by the question. "I don't know..." she said honestly. "I'm not thinking about that yet, nor is that what this is about."

Stefan looked away from her again, eyes turbulent. "I just need some time, Elena. Please."

Elena bit her lip, frustrated and unsettled. Why did she have to fall in love with these men that made her life so complicated? Why couldn't falling in love just be easy and carefree and simple?

But the truth was she'd never really been a sunshine and daisies kind of girl. She'd tried to find 'normal' with Stefan, but she hadn't been willing to give him up for it at the time—and normal was never in her hand of cards anyway.

And now _Damon_... Damon had never _been_ easy, and she sure as hell wasn't willing to give _him_ up for 'easy' either.

But still... She was tired of being tossed up between them, like a bone to fight and stew over. And she was tired of _being_ that bone, knowing as she did how much they needed each other in their lives—at least as much as either of them had ever needed her.

"Just don't wait too long, Stefan," she said at last. "I don't need your permission. This _is_ happening—and I know I can't make you like it, but I need you to be okay—your _brother_ needs you to be okay, even if he'd never admit it."

Stefan looked like he wanted to say something, but he just looked back to the window—searching for something Elena couldn't see.

* * *

"Any luck?" Damon asked lazily, looking up from his book. It had taken all of his considerable willpower—and a decent distraction of Jack London's prose—to focus his hearing away from that upstairs room.

But it had worked.

Barely.

"I don't know, maybe," Elena huffed, flopping down next to him. "The both of you are so stubborn; if I didn't already know you were related, that would be proof enough."

"Hey pot," Damon smirked, nudging her in the ribs, "I'd like to introduce you to my friend kettle—I really think you two'd really hit it off."

She narrowed her eyes at him. So obviously it was going to take more than grade school humor today. _Okay..._

"Seriously," she groaned, voice muffled as she sunk her head in her hands. "You're both _exhausting_."

"But I'm only the good kind, right?" he flashed his eye thing at her when she looked back up, satisfied to see a faint blush on her cheeks at the suggestion.

"I think I need to get out of this house," she said, standing. "Jenna wanted to go lingerie shopping before the big day... I guess now's as good a time as any."

"Feel free to get something for yourself," Damon smirked suggestively, making her blush deeper.

He sped to her side as she gathered her purse. "Don't worry so much," he tipped her chin up. "You don't have to make everyone happy."

"I'd like to make _you_ happy," she whispered.

Damon felt his chest tighten. "You've already done that," he intoned huskily.

Elena nodded, but didn't look entirely convinced. "I'll see you tonight," she tried to smile, brushing her fingers against his elbow as she left.

Damon settled back into the couch, but didn't bother to pick up the discarded novel. He really should get up—do something—_anything_ to keep him from brooding over a glass of amber liquor as day turned to night.

But he couldn't pull his mind away from recent events—a perilous lineup of unbelievably good and aggravatingly bad. But he was going to keep it together, he was going to…

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" He was going to say something. Apparently.

His words seemed to catch Stefan off-guard as he descended the stairs. "Were you waiting there all day to say that?" he muttered darkly, picking up an empty glass from the drink cart.

"No," Damon joined him at the cart in a flash, a dangerous smile twisting his features. "I would've come up with something better, if I had."

"Is there something you want, Damon?" Stefan sighed tiredly, taking a hefty swig of bourbon.

"I want you to stop making Elena feel like she's betraying you, for starters," Damon crossed his arms.

"I can't help if she has a guilty conscience," Stefan shrugged, though he looked as though he regretted the words the moment they fell from his lips.

"Don't give me that," Damon eyes his brother narrowly. "You know how much she takes on herself. Hell, she'd write a eulogy for a bee that died stinging her. You don't want to blame her for moving on. You just can't stand that she's moving on with _me_."

"_Why_," Stefan breathed, low and dark, "do you always insist on forcing the issue?"

"Because I'm not overly keen on spending the _next_ century and a half building resentments and picking fights with you, any more than we already do," Damon ground his teeth.

"And yet here we are again," Stefan glowered. "Except this time _you_ stole the girl."

"I didn't _steal_ her, Stefan," Damon retorted. "She forms her own opinions and makes her own choices, or had you forgotten?"

"How could I?" Stefan answered bitterly. "When she's made it abundantly clear that her choice wasn't me."

"So, what? You're such a catch?" Damon raised an eyebrow.

"Honestly, Damon," Stefan bit back, "I know she and I grew apart—that we weren't as perfect for each other as we once thought. And I _know_ she should have someone in her life so much better than me. But I didn't think that person would be you."

Damon could take umbrage, but they were only thoughts he'd tortured himself with a thousand times before. "Believe it or not, little brother," Damon responded evenly, "I didn't think so either—still have a hard time believing it, as a matter of fact. You are the eminently logical choice—good, honorable, responsible—_most days_… Saint Stefan to the rescue," he gestured grandly, words laced with bitter truths. "And I am _none_ of those things—not to mention I've hurt her too many times to count."

"So explain it to me then," Stefan interrupted. "How does she choose you? How do I know you aren't taking advantage of her? That you aren't just going to hurt her again, and break her for good this time?"

Damon closed his eyes briefly, steadying his hands as they twitched to clench into fists. Leave it to his brother to voice every last fear he had for himself, chipping away at him like so many wooden splinters until there was nothing left. But there was still something standing at the end of that assault—something anchored deep inside of him, protected, sheltered by _her_, by Elena.

"I ask myself the same thing every day," Damon admitted, more telling than any protests to the contrary might have been.

Stefan looked momentarily stricken, obviously fighting the conflicting feelings coursing, magnified, through his veins. "I know you love her, Damon," his nostrils flared, jaw clenched. "I know how far you've come finding the person you tried to bury, how _hard_ it's been for you, but…"

"She and I have been through a lot," Damon said quietly. "She has forgiven me things I will never forgive myself. Overlooked faults I wish I could rip out with my bare hands. It took a lot of time and a lot of work to get us here. And I have had inexplicable, _extraordinary _good luck that every time I screwed up _royally_, there was a tiny crack of light leading us back out again. But whatever there is between us has withstood all of that—I don't deserve it, and I stopped looking for it. But don't ask me to turn away from it now that it's standing _right there_."

Stefan nodded, an expression written across his features that almost belonged to the brother Damon thought lost back in 1864. "I wouldn't have lasted as long as you have," Stefan said sadly, distantly, as if realizing something for the first time. "But you've always been stronger than me in one way or another," he added faintly as he turned, and left.

* * *

Elena took a deep breath as she leaned back against Damon's chest, nestled between his legs as he leaned against the headboard. She felt her shoulders relax slightly as his arms wound their way across her abdomen.

"Have fun with Jenna?" his voice rumbled low in his chest.

"Sure," Elena said noncommittally. "She could tell something was on my mind…" she admitted, biting her lip. "Somewhere between Victoria's Secret and Dairy Queen, I spilled everything."

"And?" Damon pressed gently, though she could hear the tinge of apprehension in his voice.

"She wasn't surprised about us," Elena grinned slightly, tilting her head back to see the matching smirk on Damon's features. "But she said I had to give Stefan time if that's what he wanted—something about rationality flying out the window where past loves were concerned."

Damon let out a soft chuckle. "She would know…"

Elena smacked his thigh lightly, though she couldn't help but smile. "I know it'll take time," she went on, smile fading. "But time for what, exactly?"

Damon was silent for a moment. "Even if he's known you're not his anymore, you're awfully hard to give up," he said at last. "God knows I never managed."

Elena placed her hands over his. "I'm glad you never gave up on us," she said quietly.

"There were more than a few times I should have," Damon intoned from behind her. "You would've been better off without me messing things up for you."

"I wouldn't _be_ here if you had given up," Elena corrected. "Even if life got a little messy."

"Still…" Damon tightened his embrace, words just barely audible. "I'm sorry it took me so long to learn how to be _truly_ unselfish with you."

"I'm sorry it took me so long to understand," she whispered back, thinking of how often she'd failed to see past the surface, past the present, past the obvious. Even when she saw through him easily as a piece of glass, she had missed something in that seeming clarity. Something, some little piece had refracted, blocking her out. But her vision was no longer clouded.

She tilted her head again to press a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw, drawing her legs up towards her. She let her eyes drift shut contentedly as his head dipped, drifting a kiss across her hair and resting his cheek just behind her ear.

"_Thank you for trying…_"

* * *

**A/N: Well, I tried—still not entirely happy with it, but I can't reason making you all wait any longer. And it's looking like two more chapters to go, folks! Hard to believe... Hope you're still enjoying the ride—and please share your thoughts!**


	29. Longing, Belonging

**Author's Note: Okay, well... This chapter was especially bittersweet to write after the last episode. I won't say too much lest I spoil anyone, but rather than dwell on _that_ I think I'll just let this be what it is (and hopefully be good about it). After all, what is fanfiction but untenable wish fulfillment? So let's give them this, shall we? :)**

**Also, I feel I should say up front that though we've finally made it to the long-promised wedding, I'm really not keen on writing the drawn out speeches and such. It's not usually my style, and just isn't the tone or point of this story for me. So you won't be reading any heartfelt I Do's or Best Man toasts. I hope that won't disappoint you, and that in the end you won't even notice the absence!**

**One last side note—the chapter title is taken from an Eddie Vedder song (_Longing to Belong_)that sort of sweetly dovetails with this story. Check it out! :)**

**Now then, please read on and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Twenty-nine: Longing, Belonging_**

* * *

"Where's Ric?" Fred Harrison poked his head around the door. "They want to get started soon."

"Bathroom," Damon nodded toward the little vestibule in the corner of the wood-paneled room.

"Ah," Fred nodded, coming in and closing the door behind him. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, not moving far from the threshold. Though the bachelor party had certainly helped, Fred still seemed a bit skittish around them.

Then again, he might just be unsure how to break the heavy silence that pervaded the room. He looked from Damon to Jeremy to Stefan expectantly, but each remained quiet in their seats.

Of course, Jeremy wasn't likely to say much without provocation. And Stefan... Well, Damon hadn't spoken much with his brother over the past couple of weeks. Since Stefan had first found out about Damon and Elena, he'd seemed to decide that avoidance was the best strategy for coexistence. Elena had refused to stop staying at the Boarding House—for which Damon was grateful and a bit vindictively pleased—and Stefan gave them their space. Damon wasn't even sure if Stefan was trying to accept them or just waiting for things to end badly, but Damon wasn't going to push. Yet.

"How long... uh," Fred cleared his throat, "How long's he been in there?"

"Twenty minutes, give or take," Damon supplied with a shrug.

Fred's eyes widened slightly. "Sure he hasn't made a run for it?" he asked in jest—though the possibility didn't seem altogether out of the question to him.

"Yes," all three vampires answered simultaneously. Damon tried to suppress his grin—of course Fred had no way of knowing that each of his companions would be able to hear very clearly the moment Alaric tried to escape out of the window.

But Damon wasn't really that concerned about a runaway groom, he was here to fulfill his duties as Best Man—which apparently included pre-ceremony babysitting—and these leather couches in the priest's private offices were much more comfortable than the pews.

Plus, he found the idea of three vampires passing the time in a holy father's suite endlessly amusing.

"Ahem… well then, erm…" Fred's hand faltered on the doorknob, "just let him know he's got about five minutes?" And Fred promptly left without waiting for a response.

"Ya hear that, Ric?" Jeremy knocked on the bathroom door from his seat. "Still want to be my uncle, you'd better hurry up!"

"Coming, I'm coming," Alaric emerged, patting his face dry with a towel.

"You feeling okay?" Stefan frowned at Alaric's clammy complexion.

Alaric blew the air out of his lungs with a nervous chuckle. "Sure, yea," Ric nodded a bit too eagerly. "I've done this before, right? What's there to be nervous about?"

"You kill vampires in your spare time, Ric," Damon pointed out. "Getting married should be a piece of cake."

"And Jenna's a great girl," Stefan smiled reassuringly.

"I know, I know," Alaric breathed deeply again, still looking a bit unsteady on his feet.

"Here," Damon resisted the urge to take the stuffing out of his friend, and handed him the silver flask from the pocket of his tux instead.

Alaric eyed it skeptically, but took a healthy swig all the same.

"Okay," Alaric winced as the alcohol went down his throat. "Okay..." he said again, eyeing the door but not making a move toward it.

"You're not afraid of getting married," Jeremy spoke up solemnly, "you're afraid of screwing it up. But Jenna is _not_ Isobel. You guys are great together, you don't have to worry."

Jeremy reddened as all three older men stared at him—Alaric with his mouth slightly agape. Though Damon had to hand it to the kid for hitting the nail on the head. "What..?" Jeremy looked around at them.

"Oh nothing, no," Alaric raised an eyebrow, a hint of his usual grin returning, "We're all just wondering when you got so zen,"

"I dunno..." Jeremy shuffled his feet.

"This goes back to that journal, doesn't it?" Damon surmised.

"Journal?" Stefan's brow knitted.

"Anna's journal, that Elena brought back from the Herbalist in San Francisco," Jeremy supplied. "And yea, I guess it does."

"You never did say what she wrote," Alaric said carefully, as though he'd been curious for quite some time but afraid to ask.

Jeremy shrugged, suddenly very interested in his newly shined shoes. "I dunno... It was something she wrote not long after they'd moved to Britain, I think. She was struggling to fit in, still figuring out how to be a vampire at such a young age... I don't think she knew what to do, who to be. I guess it was comforting knowing I wasn't alone—I felt like..." Jeremy paused, taking a deep breath. "I felt like she was talking _to me_. And there was a note at the end—something she wrote later, I don't know when but, maybe... Well, she scribbled in the margin, _'Your purpose lies in those that surround you, and those that hold your heart.'_"

Jeremy finished, seeming to realize he'd been babbling a bit, and flushed again in the face of their unvarnished stares. "Well it sounded better when she wrote it," he mumbled, leading the way into the hallway.

"It sounded just fine now," Alaric chuckled affectionately, with a fatherly clap on the kid's shoulder.

Damon was somewhat torn between ribbing Jeremy for playing the emo philosopher, and honestly wondering how many centuries it took Anna to come to peace with that fact.

Yet as they entered the sanctuary and took their places in pews and at the altar, it was Stefan that held Damon's attention.

His brother, if possible, had never looked more thoughtful.

* * *

Damon tried not to laugh as Alaric fidgeted in front of him. "Calm down, Ric," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "Don't embarrass me, hmm?"

Alaric turned to glare at him, but any retort was cut short as the music began to play and the doors at the back of the church opened.

And then it was Damon's turn to be speechless—not a situation he often found himself in, to be sure.

But as Elena glided gracefully down the aisle in the shimmering blue dress that hugged every curve, Damon was incapable of thinking of anything _but_ her—the feeling of her skin against his, the memory of the first time she'd danced with him in a dress not so different from the one she wore today, the way her smile shifted just _so_ whenever her eyes met his.

He had a hard time taking his eyes off of her through the duration of the ceremony—even with a _marriage_ quite literally taking place between them. A marriage he'd even admit to caring about—if pressed. Luckily, Elena's spot on the other side of the altar meant he could look at her all he wanted without drawing any undue attention.

She'd insisted repeatedly that she wouldn't cry, and though Damon had been willing to bet money that she would, he was still surprised at the moments that brought tears to her eyes.

It wasn't when Jeremy walked Jenna down the aisle, or when the rings were exchanged, or as the pair shared their first kiss as husband and wife. No, Elena's smile grew impossibly wider and her eyes glistened even more brightly when Jenna almost tripped over the altar step and Alaric caught her deftly, or when Ric recited his vows without the priest's direction just to get to the _I Do's _faster.

But it was when Ric and Jenna leaned towards each other as a clear-voiced soprano sang the last song, their foreheads just barely touching, that the single tear crested onto Elena's cheek.

The intensity with which Damon had been thinking of her, wanting to be near her, _needing_ her closer to him all day must have spilled over when she finally met his eyes over the happy couple's heads. His mind seemed to reach out to her instinctively where his body could not, and he was shocked when he encountered no resistance.

True, she didn't wear her old necklace anymore, and she hadn't quite gotten in the habit of drinking her morning dose of vervain—especially on busy days like today. But it was really the rush of sensations he felt at that mental brush that threw him off-guard.

The physical world paled as he felt encompassed in warmth and comfort and passion he scarcely knew how to name. His first lucid reaction was to pull away, but he seemed to have hesitated long enough for Elena to recognize his presence. Instead of pushing him out, though, she held tight—her mouth rounding out in a perfect little 'o' of astonishment.

_It's just me,_ he thought, somewhat lamely, holding her gaze. _Don't be afraid._

_I know,_ her face split into a smile. _And I'm not._

Damon was still struggling to soak in the feeling of being just this connected to her—forming actual words was a bothersome afterthought. Yet the possibility that she might not comprehend the same feeling in return filled him with irrational sadness.

But all he managed to express was an _I love you_ and a crooked grin.

_I know that too,_ she smiled again. _I can feel it..._

Her voice drifted away from the edges of his consciousness as he forced himself back to reality. It almost hurt to pull himself away, as though he'd literally fallen back to earth. But they were supposed to be walking down the aisle now, Best Man and Maid of Honor following the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Saltzman out to the tune of bells and cheers.

"Hi," Elena whispered aloud as she took his arm, eyes alight.

He grinned at her conspiratorially, "Hi."

* * *

"You didn't mean to do that, with the… mind-thingy?" Elena looked up at Damon curiously as they danced. "At the ceremony?"

"No," he smiled at her with _those_ eyes shooting off sparks. "I didn't."

"So you really are a mind-reader?" she smirked, enjoying the lightness he brought to their movements across the parquet floor.

"It doesn't usually work quite like that," he twirled her around once, twice. "Usually easier to create a dream, or plant an idea you don't recognize as not being your own—but I guess the principle is the same, if the connection is there. I'm sorry that I startled you."

"Don't be," she hurriedly reassured him. "It was… nice; exciting," she amended.

He just smiled down at her, but she knew he had liked the experience, too—his own feelings had almost overwhelmed her, swirling alongside her own. She had felt poised on the edge of an abyss—yet she wasn't so afraid to tumble over the side.

"Is that what it feels like?" she asked, curious. "Vampire emotions—is that what I was feeling?"

"Come again?" Damon quirked an eyebrow.

"In my mind, it was so… _intense_. I've never felt anything like that before—it was like a rush of adrenaline came with every new impression," she struggled to explain.

"You felt that?" Damon's brow knitted together.

Elena nodded, biting the inside of her lip. "I'd like to feel it again," she smiled up at him almost shyly. "Later…"

"I think that can be arranged," Damon dipped her as the song ended, eliciting a throaty giggle in spite of herself.

"Mind if I cut in?" Stefan asked as she was pulled upright, solemn but for the hesitant smile peaking at the corners of his mouth.

Damon looked between them, skeptically, but Elena nodded, hoping he could see in her eyes she was okay. She'd been trying to give Stefan his space without coddling his feelings overmuch. But she hadn't been able to read him properly since…

"Mmm…" Damon hummed, looking between them. "Play _nice_, kiddies."

She had to smile as she watched Damon saunter purposefully over to Bonnie—sitting alone at one of the large white tables, staring longingly at the dancing couples—and pull her onto the dance floor. Of course, she was protesting all the way, but Elena knew she'd give into the fun of it soon enough. Unlike Matt, Damon actually _could_ dance.

"I'm sorry we haven't talked much lately," Stefan broke the silence between them as they settled into a tame box step.

"You asked me for time," Elena said carefully, pulling her attention back into him. "I wanted to give it to you."

"I know," Stefan smiled sadly. "I appreciate that."

"And..?" Elena raised an eyebrow.

"And…" Stefan let out a long breath. "You know, it may never stop being a little strange for me—Damon and I have more issues than can be sorted out in a few weeks or months, maybe even years. And you and I…" he trailed off.

"I know," Elena nodded quietly. But she had hoped…

"But I can see how good you are for him," Stefan offered. "Always have been, really."

Elena smiled a careful smile, daring to hope again. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "You can see that he's good for me too, can't you?

"Yes," Stefan looked down at her, considering. "That's nothing new, either—even if it was… hard… for me to see before, especially when we were together. But he's always understood parts of you I never did," he admitted, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Elena squeezed his shoulder where her hand lay for their little waltz. What could she say? It wasn't exactly untrue… Damon hadn't always done right by her, but he'd _known_ her in a way no one else could comprehend.

And now that she was _with_ him… where before she had comfort and stability, she now had passion and vibrancy. She'd never really recognized the difference between simply _living_ and being _alive _until now. Yet she and Damon brought something out in each other that had been missing before—Elena was sure of that.

"You and I needed one another, for a time," Elena gestured between her and Stefan before returning her hand to his, moving in perfect time to the music. "But I think maybe that time was a bridge for both of us—a stopgap between two other segments in our lives," she tried to look in his eyes. "Walking that bridge was _so_ important, Stefan, you have to see that."

Stefan nodded, meeting her gaze. "I think that bridge was leading both of us to Damon, in a way," he chuckled almost morosely. "Who would've thought…?"

"It's funny how things work out," she tried for a smile, and earned a small one in return.

"And yet they always work out right, don't they?" Stefan intoned, almost to himself. "But you need him, need each other," he shook his head in wonderment, "and I might have gotten my brother back after all this time…"

Elena smiled—pleased to hear him acknowledge what she knew he'd wanted ever since 1864.

"I'm glad you insisted on seeing the good left in him, even when he and I both stopped looking—and you had every right to do the same," Stefan went on, quietly.

"He never gave up on me, even when I wanted him to, or when he couldn't see a way to do that on my terms," Elena responded. "I could never give up on him either."

Stefan nodded again, pulling her closer for the final strains of the song. "Thank you, Elena," he whispered in her ear, "for not giving up on either of us." And with a final squeeze of her fingers, he let her go.

* * *

Damon stood alone at the bar, watching as all of the unmarried women dutifully took their place behind Jenna and her bouquet. He rarely saw Elena look so young and carefree—it made him smile at the same time it made him feel old, world-weary...

"Nice wedding," came a sudden voice at his shoulder.

Damon turned to find Stefan leaning against the counter, not quite meeting his eyes. It was the expression Stefan had worn when they were children, and he'd let Damon take the blame for a mistake, or frustrated him in some way, and had come to make amends.

At least, Damon hoped that look hadn't changed in the last century and a half. But he wasn't holding his breath.

Damon just took another sip of his drink, though he looked back to Stefan expectantly.

No real need to make this easy, after all.

"She looks happy," Stefan offered, following Damon's gaze.

"Mmmm..." he gulped down the rest of his drink with a taut quirk of his jaw. "I hope so."

"She is," Stefan said more firmly, a pensive expression flitting across his features as he watched her. "And I think that's because of you."

"I know how much that pains you, brother," Damon answered darkly.

Stefan answered with a chagrined half-smile. "I guess I deserved that..." Damon just raised an eyebrow. "But I do care about both of you—and I want you to be happy."

"Even if it's with each other?" Damon asked doubtfully.

Stefan nodded, taking up his own glass of bourbon. "The truth is, there's no one else I would want to leave either of you with... I should've recognized a long time ago what that meant."

Damon considered his brother for a moment, before refilling his tumbler and tipping their glasses together with a muted _clink_.

Stefan smiled, looking relieved. "You know, for a long time I thought I had everything under control," he went on, growing serious again. "But I think I was just throwing sandbags on the levy until it finally broke."

It was Damon's turn to nod—he'd been trying to explain that to Stefan for a very long time. He had plenty of personal experience with those sandbags, after all—he'd just been standing on the other side of the levy. "We all have our own way of surviving, Stef," he said at last. "My way wasn't necessarily any better. At least you kept your head most of the time—I still ended up going off the rails, getting people killed..." he tried not to grimace at the admission.

Stefan snorted. "Maybe not—but we still ended up here, and better, I think. I know I wouldn't be able to say that of it weren't for you."

"I'm sure I owed you one... Or ten," Damon shrugged.

"For God's sake, Damon, will you just let me thank you?" Stefan crossed his arms, more than a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"Oh, is that what you're trying to do?" Damon smirked, hiding the more genuine gratitude he felt in return. Apparently, it was going to be a day full of surprises...

"That is what I'm trying to do," Stefan agreed, unable to suppress a smirk of his own. It was almost like... _normal_.

Except that normal had died a long time ago, and now had a mountain of baggage sitting in front of it.

"Well, you're welcome," Damon answered uncertainly. "Why the change in tune?"

"Just trying to see things more clearly," Stefan answered cryptically. "I know it doesn't fix everything between us..."

"We both probably have work to do on that score," Damon cut him off, knowing it was true. "But one brotherly heart-to-heart at a time, hmm? I don't think it's our strong-suit—or at least it's not mine."

Stefan actually laughed—a sound Damon never realized he actually missed until he heard it.

"I think I can drink to that," Stefan was still chuckling as he tapped their glasses together again, downing the rest of his bourbon in a single swallow.

Damon couldn't argue with that, and polished his own drink off with a cautiously optimistic sigh.

* * *

Elena leaned her head into that perfect hollow nestled between Damon's neck and shoulder as the music slowed. The reception was slowly winding down, and she was just enjoying the feeling of swaying contentedly in his arms, a comfortable silence settling between them. She watched the little groups throughout the room, all smiles and quiet conversations...

There was Bonnie and Matt, giggling over the same piece of cake, frosting on the tip of Bonnie's nose. Stefan and Jeremy were over in the corner, talking in hushed voices—brows more furrowed than anyone else's.

But it was Jenna and Alaric that Elena's eyes kept falling upon, dancing slowly in the middle of floor to some unknown melody—as if no one else existed.

"What do you think they're talking about?" she asked absently.

Elena felt Damon's head turn above her. "Whatever newlywed lovebirds talk about," he answered glibly. "Why, would you like to know..?" he added, and she could hear the mischievous grin in his voice.

"No!" Elena answered at once, though she _was_curious... "Well maybe I do," she smiled, as they took another turn past. "But not enough to have you listen in."

"Your loss," Damon shrugged. "Could be the secrets to marital bliss, but whatever."

Elena just shook her head, biting back laughter. "She does look beautiful though, doesn't she?" she asked wistfully.

"Sure," Damon said appraisingly. "But it's you I couldn't stop looking at."

"_Damon_," Elena exclaimed in mock horror, swatting his arm. "The bride is always the most beautiful woman in the room."

"Only if you're the bride," Damon insisted.

Elena couldn't stop her heart from fluttering as silence settled over them once more.

"Is that something you'd want?" Damon asked after a moment. "To be a bride?"

His voice held it's usual mix of bravado and nonchalance, but Elena could hear the hint of doubt in there too.

It was a simple enough question, and to anyone else there would be an innocent answer. Yet even though they'd only been together for a short time, and she wasn't ready to talk about the _real_ future, everything between them already felt _rooted_and true and practiced... And so a question like that suddenly felt momentous.

"I..." she faltered for a moment, before realizing an honest answer was all he wanted—and all _she_wanted to give. "Yes," she answered, "I do want to be a bride... One day."

She tilted her head back to gauge his reaction, but all she found was that crooked smile she'd come to love.

"Then you will be," he said quietly, his eyes speaking volumes—there were no _ifs_there, only promises.

Elena wished she could slip into his mind as he'd entered hers earlier, just to be _certain_he knew how much he meant to her. But she settled for a thousand watt smile and a sweet, lingering kiss, before settling her head back in that little hollow.

His chin came to rest on the top of her head as they moved around the dance floor to the gentle melody. This time, Elena didn't notice anyone else.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know, you've probably had your fill of marshmallow fluff ;) But we're nearing the end—only one chapter remains!—and I couldn't resist some happier moments. I think they've earned it, no?**

**Thanks for reading—please remember to review! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!**


	30. Unspoken

**Author's Note: Well, we've made it to the end! I can hardly believe it... Also can't believe how long it took—though work will never let me be any less busy, next time I promise to have more written ahead of time so that I might update faster ;)**

**I can't thank all of you enough for reading and sticking with me—I hope it's been as fun a ride for you as it has been for me. And a particularly warm thanks to all who have reviewed—it's always such a treat (and often quite helpful) to get your feedback, and I truly appreciate it.**

**Now then, the final chapter—nice and long, you'll note ;) And not so much an epilogue as a coda, providing that extra bit of closure and setting our characters on their future paths. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No claims of ownership, just taking them out for a spin.**

* * *

**_Thirty: Unspoken_**

* * *

Elena wandered downstairs, following the faint melody drifting out of the darkened solarium. She clutched her robe more tightly around her, a glance at the old grandfather clock confirming it would soon strike four.

"Hey," she said softly, stifling a yawn as she leaned in the doorway.

Damon must have been truly focused on the music, as he looked almost startled to find her standing there. "Hey," he answered, frowning. "Did I wake you?"

"No," Elena assured him, slipping into the room and padding over to the piano bench. "But I woke up and you weren't there."

Damon smiled apologetically, if half-heartedly. "Couldn't sleep," he shrugged.

Elena nodded, motioning for him to move over. She tucked herself onto the bench next to him, smiling contentedly as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Something on your mind?" she murmured sleepily, eyes begging to drift shut.

Damon was quiet for a moment, plucking out a few notes in the base register. "Just thinking about something Stefan said earlier..."

"At the wedding?" Elena sat up, brow creased. "What did he say?"

"Something about trusting he could leave us with each other," Damon trained his gaze straight ahead, but Elena could see the concern there.

Elena worried the inside of her lip, thinking. She had been glad that Stefan had finally decided to talk to them both at Jenna and Alaric's wedding just a few hours previous. She knew these last months had been a process for all of them, and a difficult one at that, but she was relieved to have his blessing and to know that he and Damon had come to some sort of understanding. It was a step in the right direction, anyhow.

"You think _he's_ going to leave?" she ventured, looking up at him.

Damon hitched a shoulder, though his grip around her own tightened.

"And if he did..?" she pressed.

"I guess I couldn't blame him," Damon quirked his jaw, lightly pressing a discordant combination of keys thoughtfully.

Elena could see the complicated strains of guilt in his features, if only because they were probably echoed in her own.

"What if he isn't ready?" Damon added more quietly.

"You've done all you could, and it's made a huge difference," Elena could answer that concern at least. "I don't think you need to worry about him so much anymore."

"Maybe..." Damon still wouldn't look at her. That was when Elena was sure there was more to it than feeling like they were making Stefan leave town, or worrying they might be unleashing an unstable vampire on the world.

There was more than one reason Damon had kept on Stefan's heels all those years, after all...

"You don't want him to go, do you?" she asked softly.

Damon finally turned to look at her, a melancholy smile just hinted at the corner of his mouth.

It was all the answer she needed, folding herself back into his embrace and sliding her fingers into his. "You're not going to lose him," she whispered. Of that, she was sure—even at their worst, they'd never managed to completely lose each other before. And now they'd come so far... He had to see that.

Damon just nodded at her words, but all she could do was repeat them. "You're not," she said again, more firmly. This time, at least, his answer was a kiss to her temple. She supposed that was the best she was going to get tonight.

Her sigh turned into another yawn.

"I think someone needs to go back to bed," he said from above.

"Play us something first," she inclined her head toward the piano keys, determined not to go back to bed unless he was coming with her.

Damon obliged, piecing out a few beautiful notes in a soft, subdued song, almost a reluctant lullaby. Elena's eyes were growing heavy by the time he finished, and she smiled as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back upstairs.

Laying her gently across the plush coverlet, he gingerly crawled into the bed next to her. She didn't have to wake up again later to know that this time, he'd still be there.

* * *

"Going somewhere?" Damon leaned casually in the doorframe as Stefan moved about his room, pulling clothes from the dresser and books from the shelves.

"What?" Stefan asked inattentively, glancing up from a bundle of photographs in his hand.

Damon nodded towards the leather duffel at the foot of the bed. "I hope you're not planning on stowing away for Ric and Jenna's honeymoon," he quipped with a forced smirk.

"No..." Stefan muttered, seeming to decide against the pictures, before pulling one from the stack and slipping it into a worn Hemingway tome.

"But you _are_ going somewhere," Damon couldn't help but press.

Stefan looked him in the eye at last. "Yes," he said with a hint of trepidation.

"When?" Damon crossed his arms, maintaining his position at the door.

"Today," Stefan said, a bit more firmly.

"Were you planning on saying anything?" Damon raised an eyebrow, tone growing clipped.

"Of course," Stefan frowned, turning back to his packing.

"When?" Damon was starting to feel like a petulant lover instead of an elder brother. Which, he mentally pinched himself, was just wrong on so many levels.

"Today," Stefan repeated in answer, folding a handful of henleys into a neat pile.

"It's today _now_," Damon reminded him.

"I was waiting to tell both of you together," Stefan mumbled.

"Well that can be arranged," Damon leaned his head into the hall. "Elena!" he called out before walking further into the room.

"Hmm?" she asked, confused, as she walked in, towling her hair dry with one hand. "Oh," she answered her own undeclared question in a small voice as she took in Stefan's room.

"It seems my dear brother is leaving us," Damon supplied unnecessarily.

"I can see that..." Elena looked around at the stacks and mementos strewn out of place. Damon could see the conflict in her eyes. "We didn't mean to make you leave," her brow creased sadly as she came to sit on the arm of the chair Damon was leaning against.

"You didn't," Stefan was quick to assure them. "I was always planning on leaving after the wedding," he shrugged. "I'm not going to magically start aging, you know—can't stay in Mystic Falls forever..."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Elena asked, head tilted. Damon knew he could rely on her to ask all of the questions he was too proud to press.

"I didn't know where I could go, what I would do..." Stefan sunk onto the edge of the bed. "Didn't used to be such a problem, but… it was harder to face than I expected. And I didn't know what I could handle. Talking about leaving would have made it too real."

Elena nodded, leaning ever so slightly into Damon. Her presence encouraged him, warmed more than his skin.

"And now?" he asked his little brother, looking more like himself than ever—but worrying Damon all the same.

"I think I need this," Stefan said honestly. "I need to see where my life is leading, and I think I need to start that journey somewhere else."

"What will you do?" Elena asked.

Stefan smiled slightly. "Well... Now that I have more control, I was thinking about medical school..."

Damon saw the smile dawn wide on Elena's face, but it took him a moment to remember a fourteen-year-old Stefan following the county doctor from patient to patient, house to house.

"Well medicine has certainly come a long way since the 1860s," Damon offered.

"Yea," Stefan agreed with a small laugh. "I know I'll never have a practice or keep a specialty or anything, but I think I could help people..."

"It's perfect for you, Stefan," Elena said warmly.

"_Anyone home?_" Jeremy's voice rang out from downstairs before they could say anything more.

"Up here," Stefan called back, pushing on his knees as he stood resignedly.

Jeremy was at the doorway in seconds, dropping a bag at his feet. "Ready to go?" he asked gamely.

"Wait," Elena sat up straighter. "You're leaving too?"

"Yup," Jeremy nodded, as if no explanation were necessary.

"Just like that?" Elena's voice was a touch too high. "Without any warning?"

"I didn't know I was going until Stefan and I talked last night," Jeremy shrugged. "But I couldn't let this guy strike out all on his lonesome—he's broody enough as it," he smirked.

"Well that's true," Damon snarked, though he slid a hand to the small of Elena's back in comfort.

"Thanks for that," Stefan deadpanned.

"Well, I just..." Elena looked between her brother and ex-boyfriend as though much too much was changing all at once. "You and I are having brother-sister breakfast before you go," Elena stood suddenly, grabbing Jeremy's arm with a look that brooked no argument.

"We aren't leaving for _good_; you _will_ see me again—soon, even," Jeremy laughed with all the understanding of a teenager only looking as far as the next big adventure.

"You can still have breakfast with me," Elena said stubbornly.

"Fine," Jeremy allowed himself to be pulled into the hallway, "but can't Damon do the cooking? I wouldn't trust you to make cereal..."

Damon smirked as their footfalls—and the sound of Elena swatting her brother's arm—echoed down the stairs.

"So you're not going to tell me this is a bad idea?" Stefan asked hesitantly once the Gilbert siblings had left.

Damon considered his brother carefully for a moment. Sure, the cynic in him could give Stefan a hundred reasons why he shouldn't take this path—and the older brother could give him one reason to stay. But it wasn't what Stefan needed—that was plain enough to see.

"If anyone can turn a new and improved sense of control and a well-honed penchant for self-denial into a practical skill, it'd be you, Stefan," Damon offered with a teasing grin.

Stefan chuckled, returning the half-smile. "Thanks..."

"So I can turn your room into a gym or something now, right?" Damon ran a finger casually over the long lines of books Stefan was leaving behind.

"I'd rather you didn't," Stefan replied lightly. "I won't stay away forever. And _forever_, for us..."

Damon turned back to his brother, tone growing more serious. "This is your home as long as you want it to be."

"Thank you," Stefan replied, swallowing hard. "Really, Damon, I..."

Stefan trailed off, and Damon nodded to put him out of his misery. There really wasn't much need to say anything more.

"What d'ya say we go make these kids some proper food, hmm?" Damon smirked.

"Sure," Stefan smiled gratefully. "I'll be down in a minute."

Damon nodded again, leaving Stefan to take one last look around his room, as if he were trying to memorize every surface. Damon and Stefan had a different philosophy when it came to the importance of places, rooms, possessions. Still, Damon left him to it, knowing well enough that saying goodbye was a process best started on your own.

* * *

"I can't believe you're _leaving_," Elena chided her little brother as she poured them both a glass of orange juice, trying not to cringe as Jeremy made his a bloody sunrise.

"You make it sound like it's such a bad thing," Jeremy teased.

"It is," Elena insisted, though her smile—however sad—lightened her tone. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Jeremy allowed. "But I think I need to get out of Mystic Falls for awhile..."

Elena nodded, wishing it weren't true but acknowledging that a change and a moment away from all of places haunted with heartache and mistakes held a certain appeal. "I'm sorry it's been so hard for you," she rested her hand on his. "I should've done more to help, or—"

"Stop," Jeremy cut her off firmly, though not unkindly. "It's been hard for all of us—and it would've been a lot harder for me if you _weren't_ there. So just stop blaming everything on yourself, okay?"

Elena smiled at the man her brother was growing up to be. "Okay," she said softly. "But Jenna is gonna _kill_ you," she added with a pointed tip of her glass.

"Good thing I'm already dead," Jeremy quipped with a cheeky grin.

"Who said something about breakfast?" Damon sauntered into the kitchen, pulling the refrigerator open. "Bacon, eggs, potatoes kind of morning?"

"Jeremy's choice," Elena smiled.

"What'll it be, kid?" Damon turned back amicably—though Elena thought she was probably the only one who could see the forced edges of his ever-present smirk. "Last chance for a suitable breakfast," he went on. "I know Stefan thinks he's a good cook, but he's not as good as me."

"Hey, I resent that," Stefan walked in—and Elena was sure _his_ smile was plastered on top of a more complicated range of emotions.

"You resent it because it's true," Damon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter.

"Boys, boys," Elena raised her hands between them with a smile. "You're both top chefs, okay? Now what are we having Jer, I'm starving."

"Eggs Benedict?" Jeremy looked between the brothers.

"Coming right up," Damon turned back to the pantry, setting to work.

Stefan soon joined his brother at the counter, and Elena smiled as their little family settled into an easy rhythm. Jokes and teasing, the sounds of eggs frying, the aroma of baking biscuits, questions of where they'd go first and what Jeremy would do... It was the most normal Elena had felt in a long time—the most natural she'd Damon and Stefan, possibly _ever_. It made her wonder—not for the first time—what it would have been like to know these brothers before 1864, if there was hope for those young souls of the past after all. And it made her smile again as her own brother seemed to lose more and more of the darkness behind his eyes the longer he sat with them.

Yet now half of this little unit was leaving town.

But Elena tried not to dwell on that—trusting they were all doing what was best, that it wouldn't be so long before they were all together again, having family dinner at Ric and Jenna's. Still, she was going to hold onto this moment until then.

And she was going to hold onto _Damon_, she thought as he caught her eye, speeding across the room to press a light kiss to her nose before returning to his spot at the stove with an incorrigible smirk. She was going to hold onto him as long as she possibly could.

* * *

Damon held back as Elena hugged Jeremy tightly. "Don't be a stranger," she said thickly.

"Stop worrying," Jeremy smiled down at her. "Just think of it like I'm going off to college."

"If you went off to college I'd still worry," Elena argued, eyes shining.

Jeremy paused, pulling her in again. "One of the many reasons I love you, 'Lena," he intoned, more serious for once, before pulling away. "Damon," he added, extending his hand.

Damon took it with a smirk. "Don't let the Big Apple swallow you whole—I'm not doling out any more get out of jail free cards."

"I'll be good," Jeremy grinned, "or at least good-ish..."

Damon nodded in approval, a crooked smile fixed on his features. "And keep an eye on my brother, would you? A happy medium between moping monk and brutal bloodsucker would be nice."

"You know it," Jeremy laughed, stepping away and squeezing Elena's shoulder one last time before stooping and picking up the bags.

Damon had felt Stefan's eyes on him through both exchanges, but it was to Elena that his brother turned first.

"So you really think I can do this?" he looked a mere fraction of his many decades.

"I really do," Elena said, reassuring. "But we're here if you need us."

Stefan smiled genuinely at that, catching Damon's eye for just a split second. "I know," he leaned down to hug her goodbye. She returned the embrace warmly before stepping back, looking between the Salvatores expectantly.

"Don't tell me you're not going to say goodbye," she put her hands on her hips, exasperated.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Damon asked, bemused.

"I mean with more than a handshake or a _'see you around,'_" she crossed her arms. She looked between them once more before losing a bit of her demanding posture. Damon didn't know what she was seeing in their faces, but that was probably because he didn't want to acknowledge it himself. "I'll just be helping Jer with the bags..." she said at last, biting her lip and edging out the front door.

The fact of the matter was, Damon couldn't quite remember the last time he and his brother had shared a proper goodbye. Maybe when he first went off to war... Since then goodbyes had been full of venom, threats, or not said at all.

And in the last three years, for the longest time in over a century and a half, goodbyes hadn't exactly come up. Sometimes for the better, often for the worse...

"I guess this is where I say I'll call and you say you'll visit," Stefan broke the silence.

"And I assure you you're ready for the big bad world," Damon responded.

"And then we try to shake hands, very dignified," Stefan went on with a hint of a smirk.

"Which turns into one of those ever so manly hugs," Damon fed the story from a safe distance, "all gruff pats on the back and two second rules."

"Right..." Stefan nodded, "That's it exactly."

This was the way of things, but it seemed neither of them was buying it—maybe the breakfast bag of blood had been past it's expiry date, or maybe they'd just finally lived long enough to know that going through the motions was never quite enough.

Either way, they'd both found themselves stepping forward to embrace once again as brothers. It didn't last long, but it didn't have to.

"Take care of yourself," Damon said, almost solemn, as he moved away.

"You too," Stefan smiled seriously. "Take care of… everyone."

"Oh come on, Stef," Damon pretended to whine, moving towards the door. "Don't saddle me with your hero complex. You know that's never been my best color."

Stefan laughed, shaking his head as he followed into the drive. "That's where you'd be wrong," he grinned slightly before turning more serious. "It's not like you aren't already doing it."

Damon didn't have anything to say to that, but nodded once, accepting.

"Call us when you get there," Elena forced a smile, hugging Jeremy one last time before he and Stefan climbed into that little red car.

She stood back, coming to Damon's side as Stefan slowly pulled the car around. She waved in silence until they turned a bend in the drive, clutching Damon's hand all the while.

"What now?" she asked quietly, still staring straight ahead.

Damon took a quiet breath and one last look at the settling dust on the road before answering. "_Now_," he grinned wickedly, throwing her a devilish look, "every room in that house is begging for a visit from us."

And with that he swept her up in his arms, eliciting a startled giggle as he sped them over the threshold.

* * *

Elena sighed happily as she emerged from her _second_ shower of the day, enjoying the heat steaming off of her skin as she handed Damon a towel. A hand swiped over the fogged mirror revealed pleasantly flushed cheeks as Damon came up behind her, nuzzling against her neck.

"Much as it pains me to suggest," he murmured against her, fingers tracing along her shoulder blades, "why don't you get dressed? There's something I want to show you…"

"I will if you will…" Elena barely managed to whisper, eyes hooded as he worked a trail along her hairline and behind her ear.

Still, within half an hour they were both fully dressed and seated in Damon's car. Inquiries on their destination had only earned enigmatic responses and a promise of _'you'll see.' _It wasn't until they were almost upon it that Elena recognized the grounds of the old Salvatore mansion.

"What are we doing here?" Elena looked askance at the shovel Damon pulled from his trunk.

"You're just going to keep asking questions, aren't you?" Damon tried to look annoyed, but his eyes gave him away—they always did.

"Quite possibly," Elena grinned, following him to the southwest corner of the foundation. Her brow furrowed as Damon counted out 50 stilted paces to a majestic old oak. She walked over, curious, as he began to dig between two of the tangled roots.

"When my mother died," he explained as he hefted the rich, dark soil out of the way, "I was afraid my father would rid our home of every trace of her."

"Did he?" Elena couldn't help but ask, though she was afraid of the answer.

"He kept one picture of her, and a lock of her hair, I think," Damon's next effort with the shovel was particularly vehement. "But they never left his room, and Stefan and I weren't allowed to speak of her."

Elena shook her head, breath hitching at the injustice, wondering what she and Jeremy would have done if Jenna had kept their parents' very _memory_ from them.

"So like any headstrong child would do," Damon went on, a vengeful trace of bitter pride in his voice, "I took matters into my own hands. I stole a few things from her chamber and hid them here in a pewter box…"

"Did you ever dig them up again?" Elena asked quietly.

"No…" Damon answered, still digging. "Father thought Mother's handmaid Nessa took them… But Nessa liked me and guessed what I'd done, and wouldn't give me up—so Father fired her. But I made sure she found a new position at the Forbes' estate. She thanked me later," Damon chuckled darkly. "I was satisfied knowing a few things would survive Father's wrath and denial, at least."

"But you didn't dig them up even once, in all this time?" Elena questioned.

"Nope," Damon said shortly, bending down as his shovel hit something hard. "Never had a reason until now…"

Elena wasn't sure what that meant, but crouched down as he pulled a tarnished and pock-marked box from the Earth, brushing off the hinges carefully. Damon lifted the lid, letting out a low breath as he found the contents safe inside.

There was a small, bound notebook on top—looking very fragile, but intact. "My mother's favorite childhood stories, transcribed into English," Damon explained, looking like he had forgotten it was in there. "She used to read these to Stefan and I before bed…"

Elena felt a tear prickle at the corner of her eye, realizing just how young Damon was when he'd lost his mother—what would have seemed important to him, then.

Next came a small daguerreotype image, ornately framed. Oriana Salvatore smiled up at Elena as Damon passed the photograph to her—Elena could see Stefan's cheekbones, but the rest had all been passed on to Damon. "She was beautiful," Elena offered sincerely, turning the case in her hands to read the inscription on the back: _Beloved, 1842_.

"Yes, she was," Damon agreed distractedly, standing as he obviously reached the item he had been looking for.

Elena stood with him, looking at the intricately wound silver band between his fingers. "This was Mother's favorite," he looked down at the ring, a shadow passing over his eyes. "It had been passed down to the women in her family for over three centuries. Most people call them poison rings now," he pressed a little latch Elena never would have noticed as the low dome at the center of the long face sprung open. "And I didn't realize at the time, but if I know my father…" Damon muttered, touching the rim lightly. His skin hissed momentarily as he jerked his hand away. "Yep, vervain…"

Damon handed her the ring for closer inspection. "Not as sure-fire as daily ingestion," he went on as she turned the memento in her hand, "but practical."

Elena ran her finger along the delicate filigree of the band as it twisted out vines, culminating in clusters of grapes in finely cut rubies, garnets, and pearls, silver leaves peeking out. An ancient family crest rested at the center, forming the gateway to the shallow chamber within.

"When she died with only two sons," Damon continued, "I told myself I'd find a woman one day that was worthy of wearing it."

Elena felt her heart skip a beat as she looked up into his eyes, burning as intensely as she'd ever seen them.

"I'd like you to have it," he closed her fingers around the ring gently.

For a moment, Elena was at a loss for words. To have something from so deep in his past, something from his mother, something untainted by Katherine or the past century and a half of hurts, something that was only ever meant for _her_… it felt like a breath too deep to hold inside her chest. "Damon, I…" she tried to speak, but to say _'I couldn't'_ or _'I don't'_ wasn't even the point—_protesting_ at all wasn't the point—she _wanted_ to be this woman Damon so believed in, to feel deserving of accepting such a gift.

"It doesn't have to mean anything more than what you want it to," Damon swallowed, looking uncertain.

"It means _the world_ to me," Elena said fervently. "And I would be honored to wear it."

The corner of Damon's mouth tilted upward at that, and Elena felt her own features splitting into a wide smile. "But not yet," she placed the ring carefully on the freshly turned earth beside them, "there's something I need to tell you first." She stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting a hand on his neck, twining her fingers through his hair. "I didn't take any vervain this morning, either…"

Damon's head tilted, glancing at the ring on the ground and back at her with that familiar smirk. His head bent until their foreheads were touching, his eyes capturing hers intently. Elena smiled as she felt his consciousness mingle with hers.

_I love you_, she thought, putting the full weight of her very essence behind it.

Her eyes fluttered closed as Damon closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss somehow both soft and fierce and everything in between.

His own voice echoed through her, ringing until every cell vibrated in answer. Elena could never forget that feeling, or doubt the words that brought it to life…

…_I love _you._ And I'll never stop. _

* * *

**A/N: Well there you have it, folks! It was hard to bring this to an end—in more ways than one. But I hope it was satisfying, and still true to the characters.**

**I'm sure I won't be able to resist all of the intriguing storylines suggested by the recent finale for too long—so keep an eye out for something new. And as ever, I am open to your suggestions. **

**In the meantime, though, I hope you'll leave me one last review—thanks again for reading!**


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